Can't Stand the Heat
by BrickmasterGuy
Summary: The walls are starting to close in for the Lackadaisy and Marigold Room alike, and both are feeling the pressure. With the Lackadaisy practically miles behind their opponent, all is starting to seem lost. But, things can still get a lot worse. And maybe, if everyone plays their cards right, a lot better.
1. Laws

Things undoubtedly looked grim. Facing danger both financial and physical, the Lackadaisy speakeasy was up against some hard to swallow odds. But, nonetheless, everything always seemed to end up okay in the end, at least. That kept everyone alive, out of jail, and paid. But, now things were getting a bit tougher.

The anti-alcohol sentiment was being emphasized more than ever, with bootleggers under plenty of stress. Federal agents and police officers were patrolling more and more invasively than ever before. And, so many were being arrested and fined that it was more financially sensible to close shop than continue for plenty of speakeasies. This was when it was more important than ever for Mitzi May to run a tight ship. Unfortunately, that was always a tough ask when she was dealing with her team of gangsters.

"—so that's why I was wonderin' if you had any ideas on how to make things a bit more… streamlined?"

"Well… first thing I'd suggest—"

"Mitzi, have you seen Freckle?" Rocky asked, having just burst into a conversation between Mitzi and Wick, a more frequent occurrence than usual during the recently rocky periods the speakeasy had been facing.

"He was unloadin' the shipment last time I heard him," said Mitzi.

"I promised his mother I'd bring him home before it got too late." Rocky paused. "It's about eleven, right?"

"It's almost midnight, I'm afraid," Wick replied.

"Damned daylight savings. Well, I better go get him then, or I'll be putting myself in grievous danger!" Rocky shouted back, as he began to pace towards the tunnels.

"Daylight savings was weeks ago, honey!" Mitzi said, loudly.

Rocky took long strides as he walked down the tunnels towards the garage where Freckle was supposed to be. It was chilly and rather damp down in the tunnels, but, granted, it always was. He hummed to himself as he continued, stepping in an occasional puddle of water. Once he'd made it to the staircase that led up into the garage, he opened the hatch above it and called out into the room, "Freckle!"

The room had within it Zib and the titular Freckle, the latter deep inside the back of a truck, with the wall lined with many boxes, stacked up on top of one another. Freckle, upon being shouted at flinched and nearly dropped a crate he was struggling to lift. "Yeah?" he asked, straining himself as he poked his head out from the back of the truck, crate still in his hands.

"Your mother awaits! We oughta get you back before she up and storms here herself!"

"What time is it?" He handed the crate to Zib, standing on the ground, hands outstretched.

"Twelve."

Freckle squatted down, grabbing another crate from inside the truck, and sighed. "Zib, is it alright if I—"

"Sure, go ahead," Zib began, before receiving the box Freckle just grabbed and tensing up, "I'll deal with what's left."

"Alright, let's go." Freckle hopped down and grabbed his hat, sitting on one of the boxes against the wall.

"You're doin' the next shipment, Rocky!" Zib shouted, pulling himself into the back of the truck, "If there _is _a next one," he mumbled to himself.

"Okay!" Rocky replied, before turning to Freckle, "Alright then, we're off."

The two left the garage, walking through a light drizzling of rain to their car, parked on the side of the road in front of the café. The sky looked rather overcast, the moon blearily shining through the clouds. After quickly settling into the car, Rocky began to pilot the car on its course back home. The streets were rather quiet, and some calm conversation between the two relatives kept the serene mood as they drove back home. Upon arriving, the car was parked, the two exited, and Rocky took the lead. Shushing Freckle, he carefully opened the door and tried to make his way in quietly. After about five steps in, it seemed he was in the clear, and the two parted ways as they readied themselves for sleep.

While many, including the aforementioned McMurrays and Rickaby, were beginning to sleep, a few were preparing for a few long hours ahead of them. And that included Mordecai, currently within the office of Asa, who was preparing him for a second assault.

"I just warned her about this, and yet she's still gonna act all ambitious and try to work back to where they were. What's with her?" Asa said, smoking a cigar.

"So what do you want me to do?" Mordecai asked, adjusting his glasses.

"Well, they just took a shipment intended for us, basically spitting in my face after I tried to stop them. I tried my best to let her know that she should stop, right? Were we not stern enough?"

"I was plenty stern."

"So, she's threatening business now, and with the feds trying to lock everything down, I can't deal with her messiness right now. Take out the whole operation. Destroy things, steal anything left, break someone's damn legs if you have to, anything to shut it down. I want this to be their last night in business if you can manage it."

"Assuredly."

"Great, and you don't mind if the Savoys come along with you?"

"I _do _mind; they're hardly—"

"Well, seeing as you have no grievances, go ahead and get yourselves over there as soon as possible."

Mordecai sighed. "Fine then. Where might they be?"

"Probably gloating or scaring the other patrons, gambling, perhaps. They were down there last time I checked."

Mordecai nodded, turned, and left the office, heading, begrudgingly, to his partners in crime. If everything went as planned, which, of course it would with Mordecai in charge, he would be able to finally be able to put the Lackadaisy behind him. Sure, he still felt a small tinge of nostalgic longing for the old days, but he wasn't going to sacrifice his mostly comfortable position for a long shot at reliving the past. Not to mention, it was more dangerous than ever to be putting up with them. It was in everyone's best interest for them to go under, even if they didn't quite realize it yet. So, it would just have to be.

This would be easy enough.


	2. Easy Enough

"So we just breakin' tings?" Nico asked.

"Well, the goal's to put them out of business." Mordecai corrected, already finding himself becoming more impatient than was to his taste; this _must _have been his third, perhaps fourth time re-emphasizing this premise.

"_Dem _guys? Eas'," Serafine added.

"Quite. I doubt anyone's even there currently," Mordecai said.

"Mais dat's not as fun," Nico pouted.

"It's not about 'fun', it's about us staying out of prison."

"Same ting."

"...Putting that aside, it's time we move, unless there are any further misunderstandings?" Nico gave a silent thumbs up, and a small nod. Mordecai turned to Serafine, who expressed a somewhat sinister grin. Good enough. "Let's be off." Mordecai began towards the door, with the two Savoys following several steps behind, quietly talking to each other.

The car sat, parked and quiet on the street outside of the Little Daisy Café, having already made the journey from the hotel. The three sat inside of the car, in the dark cover of night, with only the yellow street lights overhead illuminating anything. Mordecai was silently planning his course of actions, while also seething, as both Serafine and Nico wanted to sit in the back, leading to a rather unbalanced, asymmetrical view.

"In, ruin everyting, out," Nico stated to himself.

"...Well, yes." Mordecai agreed, "Mitzi is probably asleep upstairs, and otherwise, it should be empty, so if we're quiet and precise enough we should have no problems doing just that."

"Sure— what we doin' if tings go south?"

"That's when it's time to use shoot, if not to kill, at least to wound. Whether for better or for worse, we must simply be unscrupulous."

"Les jus' go in now," Serafine said, already scooting towards the door, with her hand moving towards the handle.

"Yes, we've been sitting here long enough," Mordecai replied.

The car doors all opened almost simultaneously as the three cats stepped out, and crossed the dead street as the approached the café. Then they began towards the garage, where they could get in most easily and least noticeably. The door that led into the titular garage had recently been shot apart, and the unsecured opening was being kept closed from the other side. Mordecai, with no easy way in through the closed door, put his small lockpicking tools he'd readied back away. However, since there was no easy, quiet way to go enter through either the door or the garage door next to it, it would seem that perhaps the front door was the easiest way to get in— granted that they could do it without much notice. That could be a bit more difficult, but, it seemed their only option unless someone wanted to break down the door, which would be louder than basically any other way they could gain entrance.

After signaling to the group, the three walked back towards the storefront. Mordecai, on one knee, began to pick the lock as quickly as possible while Nico and Serafine watched out for potential onlookers or police officers. While Mordecai worked, he began to regret not just finding some way in through that garage, especially as he remembered the increased security regarding the nighttime business of alcohol pedaling; at least that street was typically less busy. But, with a combination of luck and quick work, Mordecai was able to get in without being noticed— partially due, also, to working in the dead of night. He ushered the other two in and shut the door.

Mordecai still knew this place extremely well Granted, it hadn't been that long since he departed, but still, and it had been even less since his last visit. He guided the other over to the hidden door, down through to the doors of the speakeasy, left unguarded and closed. Opening them revealed the dim insides. The open area, reverberating walls, etcetera. Still looked rather nice.

"Deres not even drinks to shoot here," Nico mentioned, looking at the empty shelves behind the counter.

"Destroy the furniture and such; I'm going to busy myself with the tunnels and the garage," Mordecai directed.

"Laissez les bon temps rouler!" Serafine smiled, beginning to follow Mordecai's directions with little to no forethought, with the only discretion being not to ricochet the bullets off of the walls.

Mordecai began down the tunnels, watching out for things of importance. A drop of water dripped onto his forehead from above. Terrible. Each step echoed quietly through the length of these quarried pathways, although the much louder guns mostly overpowered that to the point of being inaudible. As he was nearing the previously cleaned out arsenal, only a few steps away from passing it, he saw a shadow come closer from up ahead. Hoping to get the jump on whomever it was, avoiding potential bloodshed and noise, he quickly stepped into the room he'd robbed recently, the lock disengaged and thrown onto the floor. He lightly closed the door in front of him as he stood silently in the dark, his own breath being the main thing he heard. Then, the steps from outside the room stopped, and Mordecai began to open the door. However, right before that, he heard the click of the lock back over the door. He attempted to open the door, only to find it now locked from the outside.

"Hey, what the hell's goin' on? There's gunshots," they asked.

Mordecai stayed silent, waiting for some, _some,_ sort of chance to fix the stupid mistake he'd just made. How did he _not_ see this coming? He was _not _thinking straight as of now.

"You, the guy locked in that room— what's going on?" they continued.

"Nothing that concerns you I'm sure," Mordecai spoke through the door.

"...Who's out there?"

"A pair who won't hesitate to shoot you if you show your face, I'm afraid." Mordecai answered, "Unlike me, as false as it sounds, if you happen to let me out of here."

"No no, you're with them, you're trying to break shit or kill someone— you stay in _there. _And _they're _getting out of here."

"Go ahead, knock yourself out."

"Oh, and before I go, lemme guess who sent you; the Marigolds?"

"Figure that out for yourself."

"Okay, so yeah, they did." they said, "Well, you can stay in there until this whole thing's resolved." Then the footsteps were heard again, going back the way that they came.

Well, damn. This was completely terrible. Mordecai felt near the door for a light switch, finding it within a few seconds. Clicking it on, the room was illuminated. Clean as before, he was at least grateful that he was locked in this place already made up to his standards, not like when he first arrived here. After a look around the room, seeing no other door or hole in the wall to leave through, obviously, he put his ear up against the door, listening for his fellow companions' gunshots and hopefully footsteps; it was completely impossible for him to get himself out from where he was. The gunshots continued for a couple more minutes, with no discernable pattern or stop seeming to come through. Then, without any warning, they stopped, and there was silence.

Surely, Mordecai thought, the Savoys had just now stopped, would notice his absence, and would follow his trail to find where'd he'd gone off to. Within the next couple minutes, however, that seemed less and less likely. Then, he began to think that maybe they'd been caught. They'd been shot, chased off, or arrested, as unlikely as that seemed in Mordecai's mind. As he was formulating some sort of theory as to what was happening and why no one was coming to help him, he began to hear footsteps from where Mordecai had been coming. He listened intently, ignoring his restless thoughts for just a moment.

The footsteps stopped right outside of the door, and whoever was making them stood outside the door for several moments before they spoke, "Who are you?" This voice was undoubtedly familiar— Mitzi. They were down here now, and he was currently without a way out, and without partners to let him out. Things had gone south so fast.

"It's Mordecai," he replied, finding no reason nor way to lie his way out of this situation.

"Mordecai? What… why would you do all of this? Was there really any reason? Was there any reason to destroy _everything?" _Mitzi asked, sadness, or more accurately, betrayal, quickly saturating her voice.

"I was ordered to, I'm afraid."

"And you did it? You waltzed right in here and shot my business to pieces? Was what you _just _did not enough?"

"Asa—"

"Was this not all enough for Asa? I'm already in debt and practically making no income, does he really need to shoot all that I have left?"

"I—"

"Save it, Mordecai… I understand why you would've done this, but now I need to find some sort of way to deal with this. I'm not giving Asa what he wants, that son of a bitch. He's gonna have to try a little harder than that to take me down," Mitzo declared, a tinge of confidence, perseverance creeping into her voice instead of the betrayal.

"That's inherently foolish, Mitzi. Things are only—"

"I don't care what you have to say, Mordecai. Not to mention, _you _happen to have locked yourself in _my _establishment." Mitzi audibly turned to the side and continued, "Thank you for that, Zib."

"I'm trying to help you, Mitzi. This isn't going to help anyone, especially not you, continuing with this asinine scheme even as you bleed money."

"I don't care. I'd happy bleeding out on my own."

"...Fine, I suppose I can't influence you. I just strongly—"

"Shut it, Mordecai. I doubt you have me in mind at all, anyway." Mitzi paused, "But anyways, I hope you enjoy it in there because as I work this whole situation through, you're gonna spend the night in there. If you wanna come back here and destroy it, then you can sacrifice a day or two at _least." _

"You—! You can't just leave me locked in here, Mitzi!"

"Of course I can. It's as easy as this," Mitzi responded, footsteps starting to head back towards the speakeasy.

"You can't just hold me hostage!" Mordecai cried out, afraid that, despite his pleads, they most certainly could. It seemed his partners just completely disappeared without him, leaving him to deal with all of the consequences. Disastrous. Every moment of the last ten had just been disastrous. And now, what was just supposed to be an easy trip now had him held hostage in a storeroom in some underground tunnels. This wouldn't look good when he came back, if he _could_ come back.

Mordecai sat down against the wall. Well, he was going to end up sleeping here, it seemed. The room was devoid of any sort of soft anything, and the cold floor, cold air, and potential rodents didn't make it seem any more appealing. Mordecai took off his hat and positioned his arm behind his head as he lied on his back. It was uncomfortable with the suit, but it was the best he was gonna get. He sat there as he let the worries and concerns about this mission run through his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Conceivably, he was going to get _very, very_ familiar with that ceiling.


	3. Captivity

Sleep didn't come to Mordecai for a while. It was past midnight when Mordecai even first stepped foot in the establishment, and it had to have been hours before he was finally asleep. After sitting there for several minutes, he convinced himself he could break out, and then spent the next twenty minutes looking for some alternative exit or potential escape, which didn't work. In a vain attempt, he tried to use his pistol to shoot the lock on the door apart, which left him without any bullets and still no exit. Clearly, that just wasn't going to work. So, sitting back down, he tried to fall asleep. He simply lied there, changing positions occasionally, never quite getting comfortable on the hard floor. But eventually, he was simply tired enough and had been lying there long enough that sleep took him.

And still, that night didn't treat Mordecai well. He woke up at least three times, uncomfortable and cold on the floor. His suit was starting to bother him, and he was sure he was starting to bruise his shoulders. He kept wanting to check the time, but that would require turning the lights back on, which would blind him and just keep him from sleep for that much longer. Besides, the anxiety that came with knowing the time would bother him. But, so was the curiosity. He was moments away from getting up and checking anyway when he fell back asleep. Not even six hours had passed and Mordecai was already miserable.

"They're in here?" a loud voice echoed through the tunnels. Mordecai's ears perked up instinctively, and his eyes opened with a sudden tired unhappiness.

"Yeah, honey. He's in there," Mitzi said, her voice quickly recognizable.

"Who was it, again?"

"Mordecai. You remember Mordecai. Worked with Viktor? He was at lunch the other day?"

"Oh, but of course!" the voice replied, "Why do we have them locked up in the storeroom?"

"Well, he more or less locked himself in there. Isn't that right, Mordecai?" Mitzi asked in a rather patronizing tone of voice; Mordecai's name being said slowly, yet with plenty of force.  
"Huh?" Mordecai mumbled, still barely awake and still very much on the floor. At this point, he only really heard the loud voice and his name being called in the midst of the conversation.

"Yeah, well, him and his gang came in here and wrecked the place. All those bullets in the stage and bar? That's his fault," Mitzi explained.

"Those bullets in the stage weren't always there as a sort of… rustic touch?"

"No, they weren't, Rocky, those are new." Rocky, huh? The band guy from lunch? Interesting.

"Oh. Well it's good he's locked up now, then. What're you planning on doin' with him now?" Rocky wondered.

"Well, clearly, we're just gonna have to kill him."

"What?" Mordecai blurted out, suddenly sitting upright. That got him awake.

"I'm joking, Mordecai. It was just a joke. I'm not gonna kill you." Mitzi paused. "No, I don't know what I'm gonna do with him yet, Rocky. Keep him in here for now probably. I'm ready to strangle him, personally, but I don't think that'll help anything, so he'll just stay in here until we have a reason to do something with him."

"Surely you must let me out to eat and such every now and then," Mordecai added.

"We'll deal with that when we come to it. Right now, I've got a load of work ahead of me, dealing with our new mess, so I'll be upstairs organizing things. You hear that too, right, Rocky? I can't deal with any sort of accidents or catastrophes with you, so—"

"You won't have to worry about that, Miss M, I'll keep everything under control. Even Mordecai."

"I'm plenty able to conduct myself, thank you very much," Mordecai stated.

Mitzi thought for a moment. "Yeah, you know what? Watch over Mordecai for me. Pull up a chair, make sure the door stays locked, and keep Mordecai under control; don't want him escaping."

"Really?" Rocky asked, somewhat gleefully.

"Really?" Mordecai simultaneously asked, downtrodden.

"Really. I trust you'll be able to keep him in check, Rocky. It'll take all of your attention, so it's best to stay right here and not go anywhere, keeping your ear to the ground, okay?"

"I'll do it! Mordecai won't go anywhere, I assure you, Miss M," Rocky smiled.

"Good to hear. I'm sure you'll fit the role perfectly." Mitzi tittered, "But, I've got business to attend to. Good luck, Rocky. And you be sure to enjoy yourself too, Mordecai!" Mitzi echoed down the tunnels, walking out.

"So now to keeping you in that room… Oh! I should go grab a chair. I know…" Rocky muttered, his voice echoing as he trailed off, walking away.

Well, having a watching eye, even in the form of an incompetent, shrill band member would be detrimental to any potential escape attempts, though, to be fair, he was getting nowhere with the previous attempts, so maybe that was alright. But, an undeniable fact was that having Rocky here would be extremely bothersome. He did _not_ want to have Rocky right on the other side of the door for hours, let alone minutes. And even still, there seemed to be no guarantee that he'd be able to eat or use the bathroom; Mordecai was not, _not,_ going to use this room, the one he was going to spend most, if not all of his time in, like a restroom. Mordecai would sooner die than urinate in a corner and then sleep by it a few hours later. But, seeing as he had no assurance he'd be able to eat, it was also possible he _would_ sooner die, by simply starving to death.

So, it would seem conditions weren't good, and the overall situation was no better, Mordecai thought while Rocky had left. The best course of action, it would seem, would be to just play along. Clearly, if his vain attempts during the night proved nothing else, it showed that there wasn't quite any way to force himself out of here, at least without a pickaxe or something similar. So, he had two options.

One, bide his time, play along, lay low, and survive, until eventually the Savoys or someone else came back for him, and rescued him from his captivity. Surely, Asa would have someone come get him if he was here for long enough. But, seeing as the Savoys were incompetent enough to leave him in the first place, maybe that wasn't something to count on. So, secondly, he could seem trustful, build bonds, and then take advantage of those to escape. He could pander to Rocky, build trust between the two of them, and when the perfect opportunity struck, use it to escape and leave both this room and the establishment. That would require plenty of emotional manipulation, which Mordecai was rather confident he could provide. But, it could be risky, and potentially dangerous; backfiring could result in worse than just being locked away. However, at this point, it seemed he had few options and even fewer resources at his disposal.

That was when Rocky returned, grunting before setting down a crate. He then pushed it around a little, so that it was only about three feet away from the door. Rocky sat down on it with a breathy exhale.

"So, whaddya doin'?"

"...Sitting here?"

"Not trying to escape?"

Mordecai sighed. "No, of course not."

"Good." Rocky was silent for a moment. "You know, this reminds me of when I—" This wasn't going to be enjoyable in any shape or form, Mordecai was completely assured. But, if he played his cards right, it would all be worth it in the end, because he would be able to leave the establishment, back at work, without needing to talk to the wreck that was Rocky ever again. So, now the task was to find a way to listen to Rocky and respond without sounding ready to kill him.


	4. Guillotine

A few hours had passed by now. His pocket watch let him know the time was about one in the afternoon. The lights he'd switched on had attracted a few bugs, inexplicably. Mordecai sat with his back against the wall, his legs propped up, his arms loosely wrapped around them, keeping an eye on the bugs. Rocky had been going on nearly the whole time. But, keeping true to his efforts, he kept from telling him off, or from finding some way to kill him through the door. Instead, he tried to keep friendly and trustful, or at least, as much as he could muster or bare to muster. And it seemed, the pandering work _was_ paying off— somewhat, at least. No longer did he ask if Mordecai was escaping, and he'd all but dropped the prison warden attitude that had subtly underlain everything.

Rocky had talked about everything from previous work experience to current work experience to times with his cousin to random babblings that had seemingly no meaning. Mordecai, through this, had learned more than he expected or prepared to about Rocky. He'd traveled around plenty, it seemed. He'd also had more near-death experiences than Mordecai would have ever expected. But, while that was all plenty interesting, he'd also learned that Rocky had certain disdainful qualities about him. From what he'd heard, it sounded as if he ate waffles every other meal, and he often _drank syrup. _So, Mordecai had learned that while Rocky was slightly more experienced than he let on, and surprisingly articulate at times, he was also a complete _disaster. _Mordecai was glad that he was on the other side of a door.

More than ever, Mordecai felt terrible. Ignoring the bugs and the hard floor and the lights that were burning themselves into his retinas, he had some serious complaints. Mordecai last ate… shortly after noon of the previous day? It was around then, meaning it'd been practically a whole day between meals. And it'd been maybe eight hours since he'd had anything to drink, and he was plenty parched. He'd also only slept maybe three hours, and was dirty from being on the floor all night in the same suit he'd worn for _two days now. _And yet still, he hadn't used the bathroom in several hours. So, Mordecai basically had to pander like his life depended on it, because, looking at his situation, it _did. _Luckily, seeing as Rocky hadn't eaten yet, he had a chance to perhaps convince him to let him out and for the both to eat. Rocky seemed rather amenable, so there was certainly the possibility.

"So I asked, 'Are you sure you know what you're doing?', and he said, 'Well, bully, ol' chap, of course I do,'" Rocky said, doing impressions for his quotes, the latter being somewhat breathy and thick. "But I didn't trust him, so I pulled myself back at _just _the last second… and that blade fell and sliced _right _through the seat! He'd tried to guillotine me! I'd been nearly guillotined! A guillotine most foul! So I looked at him and went—"

Rocky had been going on about some sort of bizarre act he had been part of out west for a few minutes now. Apparently some sort of magic act that wasn't very magic. Sure, it was interesting, and it wasn't like Mordecai had anything else to do, but this wasn't really helping his cause.

"And he had the audacity— _audacity_—to act like it was all _my _fault! And I swear upon Aletheia, he pulled out some sort of shiv, and told me that if I didn't 'do it right', he was gonna stab me. Clearly, he was desti… dele…" Rocky snapped as he remembered, "delusional, that's it! He was clearly delusional. So I swallowed, I steadied myself, and I firmly let him know th— Freckle! Oh, and if it isn't that darling Ivy!" Rocky shouted off to the side, clearly talking to other people in the tunnel. "What might the two of you been doing, I wonder?" He had a rather teasing tone in his voice at that. "Er, aren't you supposed to be at the café, Ivy?"

"No, Mitzi didn't open it today! Says there was a break-in!" someone shouted down the tunnel.

"Who are you screaming at?" Mordecai asked through the door.

"Oh— my cousin and his snuggle-bunny. They're both cards, really."

"What're you doing down here, Rocky?" someone else asked from beyond the door, presumably the cousin, judging by the voice.

"Talking and keeping an eye on our captive. Say hi!" Rocky explained.

"Hello?" Mordecai cooperated.

"Uh, hi?" the voice paused, and then more quietly, "Who is that, Rocky? What're they doing here?"

"Freckle, you remember Mordecai; he was the scary one from the lunch! He's one of the ones who broke in last night."

"Oh. Are they the ones who shot everything back there?" Freckle wondered.

"Mordecai? Like, 'shot Viktor in the kneecaps' Mordecai?" the other asked. Well, it seemed there was a rather negative reputation of him here. Not that that wasn't necessarily to be expected, but it was seeming more and more obvious that he was the bad guy here. Again, not that unexpected, but not something he'd quite thought about. And it wasn't really that great a feeling to be so clearly and unapologetically rendered evil. Other than annoyance, boredom, and discomfort, that seemed to be one of the main feelings he'd been experiencing here.

"Yes, that Mordecai, Ivy. And yes, he broke in— he works for the Maribel, you see; fierce competitors." Rocky stated.

"Why's he here?" the two asked near simultaneously, although with wildly varying tones. Freckle seemed concerned, and Ivy sounded rather irritably confused.

"Bad luck on his part, it seems." That was an understatement, really. "So now we've got him here to… well, I suppose he's collateral on the Marigold's behalf."

"How long's he been in there?" Freckle questioned.

"What's your problem, shooting Viktor in the knees? He can barely bend them now! And don't forget his lungs are full of holes now, too! Do you really think he deserved either of those? Not to mention, you—" Ivy ranted, practically throwing herself against the door all of a sudden, making Rocky recoil back.

"...Well, he's been in there since last night," Rocky answered, recomposing himself as Ivy continued to shout at the door.

"Has he had anything to eat?" Freckle continued.

"Well, he's… I suppose he hasn't, has he?"

"Shouldn't he get to eat something?"

"Well... who even knows if he's hungry?" Freckle continued to look with a certain concern at Rocky. "Okay, lemme ask him." Rocky stepped over towards the door, lightly pushing Ivy aside a tiny bit. "Hey, Mordecai, are you hungry?"

"Hey! I was busy yelling at him!" Ivy replied.

"It certainly would be nice to have something to eat. Or drink, for that matter," Mordecai explained.

"Hmm, alright," Rocky thought, "so you'd prefer food over no food? If you had the choice you'd choose 'food'? You'd be a happier soul if you had it? Food, that is?"

"...Yes, it would certainly be preferable. Using a toilet would also be preferable." Ugh, he was practically having to beg for basic rights. This whole experience was teaching him a valuable lesson about trusting his compeers.

"Okay, noted." Rocky stepped back. "Well, I guess he does, but, uh, it's also not really my call to make, Freckle. If anyone's to decide that, it's gonna be Miss M, not me, you know? I agree, but I don't know what she thinks."

"You should go ask her. We shouldn't be starving hostages."

"Ugh, enough of the sound logic, cousin." Rocky began to stretch. "Why the sudden onslaught of well backed empathy and morality?"

"I, uh…"

"Hey, are you leaving?" Ivy asked, abruptly stopping her verbal assault.

"Well, I was gonna go ask Miss M about letting Mordecai drop the hostage role momentarily and possibly recuperate some," Rocky said. Well, here was Mordecai's opportunity, and he didn't even have to put in effort to get it; that kid just gave it right to him. That might have been the first truly good thing to happen to Mordecai in the last twelve hours.

"I wanna come," the two responded, again, near simultaneously.

"Oh, well... I don't see why not," Rocky answered before leaning towards the door, "Hey there Mordecai, I'm gonna go speak with Miss M about letting you out to take care of your business for a bit; I'll be back shortly. Don't go anywhere!" He had an audible smile in his last comment.

"You know as well as I that I physically can't," Mordecai stated dryly.

"I know!" Rocky paused, and then quieted, calming after telling his bad joke. "Alright, let's go talk to Miss M." Their footsteps echoed as they began to leave.

Well then, Mordecai could relax, no longer having somewhat interesting, but generally bothersome stories forcefully retold at him. Not to mention, it seemed likely that his hunger situation would be resolved for him. Or at least, he _hoped _it would be, but he couldn't quite guarantee that at this point. So now, he let his thoughts wander some, although only to the point of still deeply assessing his potential escapes, so perhaps he didn't let them wander much at all. Truly, he was going to be in hot water when he got back to the Maribel. Given that he _could _get back, that was.

Rocky began up the stairs that led down to the speakeasy, having passed the establishment already. By his side was Freckle and Ivy, quietly talking to each other. Rocky didn't quite notice as he ascended, not distracted as he concentrated on the task at hand. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, he pulled the latch and opened the door. The three filed out before carefully shutting the hidden door behind them. The Little Daisy Café was empty, as well as nearly entirely quiet, with the only audible sounds being noise leaking in from outside.

"She upstairs?" Rocky asked, turning to the other two.

"Probably. She was on the telephone when I last saw her," Ivy replied. Rocky nodded and began towards the front door. Shortly after unlocking it, they started climbing the stairs up towards Mitzi's office, ignoring all of the various things about as the walked, practically artifacts of a different era. Upon reaching the mostly shut doors of her office, Rocky gave it a shave and a haircut with his fist, held up slightly below eye level, before peeking into the room with a huge grin, characteristic of Rocky.

Putting her hand over the receiver of the phone, Mitzi said, "Gimme a sec, sweetheart." She then went back to talking on the phone, clearly irked. Rocky nodded as he walked in, quietly. Ivy and Freckle followed, although they trailed behind some. Rocky stood there idly, holding his wrist behind his back as he waited. Ivy and Freckle quietly whispered to each other, leaving Rocky standing ahead of them. A couple minutes of seemingly negative business talk later, Mitzi said goodbye to whomever she was speaking with and put the phone back somewhat forcefully. She sighed, quieting the two whispering, "What is it, Rocky?"

Rocky began, "Well, we were wondering if we should let Mordecai out so he could eat and drink and, well, deal with the things he can't do from inside the storeroom. Well actually, Freckle brought it up, but I agree with him. I asked Mordecai about it, and it seems like he's being honest about it. Or, at least, it _seems _like it; it's a little hard to tell. But, he's been in there for a while now, and he probably should be given something to eat and drink and all. It truly would be bad for us if we let the Marigold's Mordecai _starve to death. _You know? That's not an enemy _I'd _want to make, but I—"

"Okay, okay, Rocky." Mitzi stopped his ramblings with a hand held up, the other rubbing her forehead, covering her eyes with her hand as she thought. Letting her hand fall down her face, she began, "Alright. Well, I've got something here. We're really stretching everything as of now, but I think we might be able to manage. So, I need someone to go speak with Viktor concerning good places to find some decent wholesale, and seeing as the café's closed right now, and you have a gift speaking with Viktor, Ivy, you should go over and talk to him. Just go talk to him and come back here and we can try to go get it quickly. Besides, you like dealing with these sorts of things, right?"

"Yeah, that sounds good! I can do that," Ivy said.

"Okay, so, Mordecai." Mitzi took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "You're right, sweetheart, letting Mordecai _would _be bad. So, we can let him out for a bit. As—"

Rocky interrupted, "He's kinda scary though, what should—"

"Please, honey, lemme say what I need to say." She seemed to be in a rather negative mood.

"Oh. Sorry, Miss M."

"It's alright. But, you can let him out for, say, an hour. But, I'm gonna need both of you boys watching him to make sure he doesn't try anything funny. I'm sure he has a gun on him, so I'll need you to pat him down, and take that away from him. Then, the… uh, you…" She snapped as she struggled to remember something. "What's your name again, sweetheart?" She looked at Freckle.

"Calvin," he stated.

"Freckle," Rocky said just slightly later, although louder, than Freckle.

"Calvin. You can take that gun off of Mordecai and keep it on yourself. I want you to try to keep him from trying to run out of here. Let him know that if he tries to run out of the door he'll get shot, okay?"

"I don't really wanna shoot him," Freckle explained.

"Well, hopefully it won't come to that, but you've gotta be able to so that he won't run off. Besides, he'll be fine; he's tough enough. And, uh, actually, take this just in case he's unarmed." Mitzi grabbed the pistol she'd used the other night on her desk and held it up, out to Freckle, who stepped forward and grabbed it. "Let him know that you have some firepower on you, and let him know that you'll use it."

"...Alright."

"Okay. So if you both watch him over, and Calvin keeps a gun on him, you can escort him up to the café, and— my god this is stupid— get him something to eat and drink, let him use the bathroom, all that. But keep an eye on him, keep him from running, and keep anyone on the street from getting too suspicious of what's goin' on. Okay? Then bring him down and lock him back up. You two can do that, right?"

"Of course!" Rocky replied exuberantly.

"Alright, well, you three go do all that, and _please _keep all of it under control, okay? Don't get distracted, Ivy, business counts on this. And boys, please keep with Mordecai, he's a clever one, so don't let him be unsupervised. Normally I wouldn't have you all do this, but my hands are pretty tied right now," Mitzi explained.

"Of course, perfectly understandable." Rocky smiled. "We'll deal with it as cleanly and efficiently as possible! You don't have to worry about a thing!" He began towards the doors. "Follow, young Freckle."

The three left the office, leaving it silent. They pulled the doors mostly closed behind them, bringing the room back to how it was before their visit. Mitzi sighed, took a moment in deep thought, and then went back to the telephone. This was going to be a disaster, wasn't it?


	5. Precaution

Ivy had just left, heading out towards Viktor's, ready to extract some valuable information out of him. And now, Rocky and Freckle had made their way back to the limestone tunnels. Freckle held the small pistol he'd been given in his hand as he followed Rocky, who seemed to almost always lead the way between the two of them. Rocky noted his cousin's rather blank, expressionless countenance, which was either disconcerting or reassuring, and for the life of him, Rocky couldn't quite pick out which. Upon reaching the door, Rocky knocked on it, the two outside almost huddling around it. "We're here to escort you to your meal, monsieur," Rocky said, putting on a stuffy, somewhat uptight voice.

"Is that so?" Mordecai wondered, his ears perked at both the sudden voice and the mention of a possible meal. This was a potential chance to escape, granted the opening for it came through. That was certainly important and very enticing, but the thought of just eating something somewhat clouded his mind from other, equally important thoughts at that moment. Normally, he'd have a much less severe reaction to such things, but it was almost two in the afternoon now, and that meant it had certainly been more than twenty-four hours since he'd last eaten. Sure, he wasn't really doing all that much, but that didn't warrant the starving and all that.

"Why indeed so. We're gonna let you out of there for an hour-ish. You'll have the finest lunch you've ever had… as a hostage." Rocky's hands moved to the locks on the door. Freckle stood behind him, the gun in his hand, at guard.

"A high bar to clear, as it were." Mordecai's comment was dry enough to nearly confuse its meaning. It was a joke, kind of, but that plain, matter-of-fact tone of voice was about the best Mordecai could muster to tell it with. That was the best he could _ever _muster. He stood up, standing by the door, beginning to tidy up his clothes. He brushed himself down and adjusted his glasses.

"Well, we'll have to try extra hard then." His ear to ear grin was clearly audible in his comment. He unlocked the first of the two locks.

"Will there be a chance to use the bathroom before said lunch?" There was the 'begging for the bare necessities' thing again.

"Sure, why not? You've _got_ the hour." The second and final lock was undone. Rocky grabbed the door by its handle and swung it open, making Mordecai flinch from its sudden, hasty opening. "There you go!"

The two were now face to face, which, despite the hours of conversation that had already taken place, hadn't even happened yet on account of the door. Mordecai looked familiar to Rocky— how could he forget someone like _Mordecai? _The spectacles and the unabashedly fancy and proper dress and way of conducting himself stuck out strongly. And likewise, Rocky looked familiar to Mordecai. Rocky was just as conspicuous as Mordecai was seen to be, with that blue suit and the grin that looked as if it comprised most of his face, not to mention that large, obnoxious tie. Both looked at each other for a moment before Rocky spoke again, "Alright, well, I need to pat you down before we get going."

"Must you—" Mordecai began before Rocky began to pat him down. Mordecai scowled as Rocky's hands scanned across his body. Freckle took a step forward, ready to take the gun off of Rocky's hands after he grabbed it.

Rocky stopped after a few seconds and grinned. "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" Mordecai's brow furrowed and he frowned further as Rocky's hand began to fumble about inside his overcoat. Rocky grabbed Mordecai's gun and pulled it out. "It's a gun, as it turns out." He held the gun out in the general direction of Freckle, who grabbed and pocketed it. Noticing Mordecai's continued scowl, Rocky said, "Joke. It's a joke, Mordecai. I knew it was a gun. I doubt you're ever happy, let alone seeing me."

Rocky continued to pat Mordecai down for another moment, checking if there was anything else worth noting or any other weapons on him, but this revealed nothing new. Except, perhaps, further evidence that Mordecai didn't like being pat down, as it seemed. Rocky stopped and cleared his throat. "Well?" Mordecai asked, fixing his tie and adjusting his suit.

"It's time to escort you to that meal I promised." Rocky took a few steps down the tunnel and stopped, turning quickly. "Freckle, you stay behind him and keep your eyes on him."

"I'm not planning on running."

"Miss M's orders," Rocky lifted his hands up as if to say 'hey, don't blame me', before turning back ahead and walking farther away, "not mine." He finished, turning his head slightly to look at Mordecai with his typical grin before turning back to where he was walking and putting his hands down. Mordecai followed, with Freckle staying behind him, gun in hand.

The tunnels were as damp and dirty as Mordecai remembered, both from back when he used to work in them and from just before being locked up. He observed the various things about he hadn't bothered to or hand a chance to when he was here last night. For example, there was blood splattered in some areas. Probably belonged to those pig farmers that raided the other day. Surprising that the Lackadaisy did as well as it did, given that it had no guns, really. The pig farmers weren't particularly formidable enemies, granted, but still.

They reached the actual establishment after just a short walk, and it certainly looked like more of a mess than when he first arrived. There _were _indeed bullet holes in most things, but it was most noticeable with the lights above. Almost all of the bulbs had been shot out, and glass littered the ground now. And most of the chairs certainly didn't look particularly inviting to him, personally, with the holes and all that. They passed through the room, towards the main entrance, where the doors were left open. Passing through the doorway, they began up the stairs, with Rocky being a few steps ahead of Mordecai, and Freckle being right behind him, his back occasionally bumping in the gun he held, reminding him of the danger presented by escaping. Rocky carefully opened the hidden door at the top of the stairs, and then held it open as the other two made their way up. He closed it as the two shuffled out of the way.

"So, what's on the menu?" Rocky asked.

"The washroom," Mordecai stated, subtly signalling to the door by the shelves with his hand.

"Oh, well th— Err, well…"

"What is it?"

"I can't leave you by yourself, as Miss M told me, so…"

"Yes?"

"I suppose I should go in with you? To make sure you don't try anything." Rocky rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. Freckle looked at him, mildly concerned.

"I assure you, the little one practically prodding me with the gun as we walked up here was plenty deterrent," Mordecai detested, signalling Freckle with a nod in his direction.

"I know, but I can't go against what Miss M asked of me."

"Understood, but that doesn't change the situation." So this was the life of a hostage, huh? Arguing over how he might be able to use the bathroom? Even just _hearing _about the overarching rivalry between the two speakeasies from captivity would be worthwhile as compared to _this._

"What if I just stand the other way? You know, I'm in there and I can do something if you try to run, but I'm just, looking away? Does that work? Is that okay?"

Mordecai wasn't going to waste time arguing this. He didn't have the argumental leverage to convince Rocky otherwise on this, and Mordecai had both a set limited time outside of the storeroom and a definite need to just use the washroom, as inelegantly as he could put it at this point, so he was just going to have to agree with him already. "Fine, that'll do."

"Alright then." Rocky adjusted his hat. "Freckle, you just stay out here and wait. Burst in if you hear screaming, struggling, or generally disconcerting noises and feel things might be going south." Freckle nodded. "Great." Mordecai opened the door and stepped in, with Rocky following behind, closing the door behind him.

The room was humbly sized, with clean tile floors, the apparently ever-important toilet, and a sink and small mirror opposite it. Generally, rather nice, although it became a bit inconvenient for Rocky, who faced the mirror and tried to avoid looking at Mordecai as he looked the other way. Mordecai began to undo the button of his pants, careful so as to keep himself concealed from Rocky, the intruder. He tried to forget about Rocky and about how he shouldn't have been in the room with him— it was making him uncomfortable. This whole bathroom debacle had been making him uncomfortable.

Rocky stood with his back to Mordecai, trying to keep his gaze affixed on the wallpaper or in some thousand-yard stare. But, Rocky continued to fail as his gaze kept falling upon Mordecai through the reflection of the mirror, and Rocky began to notice things about him he previously hadn't. At first, he was just looking at Mordecai with a rather blank mind. But then he suddenly started thinking about Mordecai as he looked at him. Mordecai was rather slim. Sure, he'd noticed before, not like it was some secret or difficult to tell, but as his eyes scanned across his generally unexceptional backside, he took it in more. And he began thinking some more. And he sure did look neat, didn't he? The spectacles and the fancy outfits had drawn him in earlier, hadn't they? And— Mordecai flushed the toilet and Rocky quickly darted his eyes away to some random part of the wall, pretending to be distracted with something.

So Mordecai was actually rather attractive. That much had probably been in the recesses of Rocky's mind since he first saw him, but now he just actively recognized it. He'd been distracted by Mordecai's antagonizing nature on account of his Marigold position the last time he'd seen Mordecai, so he hadn't been focusing on his looks at all. But his attraction, on its own, didn't mean anything; Rocky saw plenty of people as physically attractive. And Mordecai seemed uninterested, impossible to get to, and not even really like the kind of person Rocky would care for, so it wasn't like he was running the risk of falling in love with the Marigold hostage. But perhaps it might mean a couple of wayward glances.

Mordecai walked over towards the sink, making Rocky step aside, and he began to wash his hands in the basin. "See? Painless," Rocky said.

"Not physically," Mordecai stated, his gaze staying steady on his hands.

"Oh Mordecai, what a jokester."

"Yes, light-hearted whimsy and such."

"Well, at least you don't seem to be escaping. That's good."

"Indeed. It's precisely as if someone had declared that exact thing just moments ago."

"It _is _like that, isn't it?" Mordecai finished washing his hands and dried them on a folded hand towel sat next to sink. He carefully unfolded it and scrutinized his hands with it.

"Well, should we—" Rocky paused, expecting Mordecai to be ready to leave, only to turn and see him folding the towel back up. "You don't have to fold that."

Mordecai's ear twitched, turning towards Rocky some. "Of course I do." He finished and sat it back where it was.

"Alright, so food, then?" Rocky opened the door a crack.

"Yes, that would be advantageous."

"Great!" Rocky quickly swung the door open and stepped through the threshold, Mordecai following suit. Freckle, who had been looking out the window, quickly turned to face the door. But his surprised tenseness quickly faded and he stood simply as before. "So, some food is in order. Time for master chef Rocky to whip up some fantastic meals for everyone!"

"No!" Freckle shouted. "You can't do that."

"Why not? I was excited to use the knives."

"You've started three fires just in trying to boil water. I'll do it." He began to walk behind the counter.

"Alright. Would master chef _Freckle _be so kind as to procure some of their finest flapjacks for retired chef Rocky?" There were those pancakes again.

Freckle nodded. "And, uh, you?" Freckle turned to look at Mordecai, who stood there, less afraid of Freckle after hearing his voice attached to that face, despite the gun.

Mordecai took a quick glance at the shelves and their ingredients. He also thought back to when he used to work here and what he'd sometimes have. He remembered what he'd gotten Mitzi to start selling specifically because of him. He wasn't sure if she would've continued selling it, but it was worth an attempt, especially since it would certainly be enjoyable. "Corned beef, delicatessen style?" he tried.

"Uh, wh—"

"Corned beef, cut thinly, on a sandwich."

"Oh, alright. I guess if we have some…"

Rocky sat down on a stool by the counter as Freckle turned around and began to work on the requests. Rocky smiled at Mordecai. "Come on, sit down," he said.

"I've been sitting for hours."

"You've got reason to now. Not to mention company. Right, Freckle? You're company."

"Oh, uh, sure." Freckle said, setting his gun aside as he pulled out a pan.

"See?" Rocky beamed. Mordecai exhaled and sat down on a stool. It was to the right of Rocky and left a stool in between the two of them. "Look, wasn't that easy?"

"I suppose it was easy enough."

"That's the spirit!"


	6. Master Chef

The sun shone in through the café's windows. Freckle turned on the stove and began to search around for ingredients. He wasn't particularly familiar with all of this. Ivy had shown him earlier, but he'd already forgotten a lot of it. Mordecai grabbed his hat by the crown with his pads of his fingers, setting it down on the counter to the right of him, out of his way. He pulled out his pocket watch; it was about five after two. He looked at it for a moment as he thought. A sun beam reflected off of the watch, shining into Rocky's eye for a moment. As Mordecai began to put it away, Rocky pointed at it, "What'cha got there?"

Mordecai, caught off-guard by Rocky's comment, looked up, mildly surprised, so suddenly engrossed in his thoughts that he'd forgotten there were others around. "It's a watch." He held it up slightly, showing it to Rocky.

Rocky looked at it for a moment, leaning in to get a good look. "You're off by an hour."

"Am I?" Mordecai brought his pocket watch back towards his eyes, quickly checking it again.

"Yeah, daylight savings."

Mordecai paused. Of course, daylight savings time. Or wait, daylight savings time? "That was more than a month ago."

"Was it?" He raised an eyebrow.

Mordecai nodded slightly. "Indeed."

"Huh. Well, you should get around to updating your watch, then." Rocky paused. "Freckle, would you get me some syrup?"

"I'm gonna put some on the— Oh, uh, sure," Freckle replied from behind the counter as he, on his knees, searched around for the right thing, rather lost.

"Could you brew some tea as well?" Mordecai requested.

"Yeah, sure," Freckle said before trying to stand up and banging his head on the counter loudly.

"You okay, Freckle?" Rocky asked, leaning over the counter.

"Yeah." He held up a container as he sat on the floor with his other hand on his head. "I found the sugar."

Rocky looked at it. "That says rat poison, cousin."

Freckle turned it around and looked at it, confused. Sure enough, it did say that. "Ugh." Freckle put it back where he found it and stood up. "Where is it?"

"Over there," Rocky said, pointing towards the shelves over to his right.

"Oh. Thanks."

"Well," Rocky began, turning toward Mordecai as Freckle walked aside, "how are things with you, Mordecai?"

How _were _things with Mordecai? Well, he was still a hostage, would be reprimanded once he got back to Asa, and was also mad at himself that he didn't try to escape just now, using the opportunity of the distracted cousin to try and get out of there without being shot. But he didn't. He was still without freedom, seeing trouble in the future, and hadn't taken his best opportunity to escape. "Things could be better, although I suppose they could be worse, too."

"There you go— optimism!"

"Less optimism and more general knowledge that this isn't physically the worst thing in the world. For example, I could have a knife at my throat. And even then, that still wouldn't be the worst; things could still get worse from there."

"I would never hold a knife to your throat."

"Not the point, but good to know." Freckle set a cup on the counter in front of Rocky, which had been mostly filled with syrup. There was that whole 'drinking syrup' thing. Rocky grabbed the cup and took a sip as Mordecai watched with morbid curiosity.

"I need to find a kettle, but then I'll get you some tea." Freckle said, looking at Mordecai. He nodded at him before he turned away and continued to search.

"You're not a bad guy or anything, right? You don't seem too bad," Rocky asked.

"In what sense?" Mordecai wondered.

"Well, you _look_ pretty scary and conniving, but you're not really that bad, right? You know what I mean?"

"Not particularly."

"Well, _you _don't think you're bad, do you. You're not overly murderous or anything?"

"Not overly. And if that's what you're basing morality off of, then I suppose I'm not too 'bad.'"

"Well then, good." He took a sip out of his cup. "How are things over there with the Marigolds?"

"Disconcerting and viscous. And otherwise, it's none of your business." Mordecai adjusted his glasses, the light reflecting off of it obscuring his eyes from Rocky.

"Oh come on, you're already practically kidnapped— you can go more in depth than _that. _I wanna hear about all the scandalous details and trade secrets!"

"For both of our sakes, no. Some things are best left unmentioned, Rocky."

"Excuses, excuses."

"I'm not—" Loud clattering came from behind the counter, and it sounded as if something might have broken.

"It's good, it's all good." Freckle stood up. "I found the kettle."

"You're doing the lord's work, chef Freckle!" Rocky grinned.

"Thanks."

"Anyway," Rocky turned back towards Mordecai, "where was I?"

"Wasting my time," Mordecai stated dryly.

"I'd never." Rocky stretched back, lifting his arms above his head. As he leaned backwards, stretching, his hat fell off and landed on the ground with a whomp. Mordecai watched Rocky stretch as his shirt, tucked into his pants, rode up his stomach just slightly. "Oops." He turned and grabbed his hat off of the ground, leaning over. He turned back and set it on the counter. He looked over towards Mordecai. He ran his hand through his hair which had flopped over when he leaned to retrieve his hat. He smiled at Mordecai. "So, what d'you plan to do once you're able to leave again?"

"Oh, uh," Mordecai was getting distracted. Rocky had rather blue eyes that Mordecai hadn't really taken note of. Interesting. "I'll most likely go back to the work I'd been doing before." He adjusted his glasses, hoping he hadn't floundered too much. Freckle looked up from the bread he was slicing at Mordecai with a expression Mordecai couldn't quite decipher. It looked most like just confusion.

"You're not gonna keep trying to destroy us, are you?"

"It's entirely possible."

"Ugh. Why do the two have to fight? Why can't they just…" Rocky gestured wildly and completely incoherently, "not do that?"

"Business, as it were."

"They should just work together. They used to, back in the day, didn't they?"

"Well," Freckle set a plate with a sandwich on it in front of Mordecai, "it's complicated." Mordecai looked at Freckle, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." There was a tinge of… something in Freckle's voice.

"Come on, give it some flair, Freckle! A 'bon appétit' or something," Rocky said.

"Bon appétit, I guess."

"Good enough." Freckle turned around and continued cooking. "Well, it shouldn't be that complicated. We're both in the same sector as it were, and working together would just be good for everyone. Even you, Mordecai."

"While working together would have its upsides, it would also have its downsides, and that's as much that needs to be said," Mordecai explained, scrutinizing his sandwich.

"Fine." Rocky rested his head in the palm of his hand, propped up on the counter by his elbow. He watched as Mordecai began to look between the slices of bread of the sandwich. "We didn't poison you. Er, well, I can't speak for Freckle. Freckle, did you poison Mordecai? With that rat poison perhaps?"

"Huh? I didn't poison him," Freckle responded.

"See? No poison."

"Not what I was checking for, but a good idea," Mordecai stated, taking one last glance before putting the sandwich back together and taking a bite.

"...So, you used to work with Viktor, right? What was that like?" Well, there was an abundance of questions now, wasn't there? Either Rocky was trying to interrogate him or he had the mentality of an overly curious child. It was most likely the latter, from what Mordecai had gathered.

What was working with Viktor like? That was a hell of a question. Ignoring some of the more piquant aspects, there was a lot to talk about, much of which Mordecai didn't want to say and Rocky shouldn't hear. But he supposed it warranted the curiosity; the two of them practically supported the entire establishment back in the day, and they did plenty of work, ranging from benign to outright vicious. But Viktor still worked here, that had been made clear, so how much had he spoken of? Had he mentioned the fact that the— "Now that's what I like to see, Freckle!" Rocky smiled, Freckle setting a plate of pancakes, completely smothered in syrup before him. Using a fork handed to him, he began to eat the pancakes in a manner that Mordecai, having snapped back to reality, would describe as awful and inhumane. "Well?" he asked, his mouth full of unchewed food.

"Ugh." Mordecai leaned back some. "Well, I suppose it was interesting. The two of us did plenty of things, many unscrupulous, but we, nearly entirely alone, did all the manual labor the business needed." Surely that put it succinctly enough, saying what he'd want to hear.

"Yeah but—" he stopped to shove a pancake into his mouth, "wath he the thame? Jutht ath hateful? Glaring?"

"He, uh," Mordecai was having difficulty dealing with Rocky's eating, "mostly was. I suppose less hateful than the last time I spoke with him." Oh god, last time. Just about _anyone _could be less hateful than Viktor _last time._

"Neat." Rocky took another bite of his pancakes. Freckle set a second plate with a sandwich on it next to Rocky, to the left of him before the kettle began to whistle, to which Freckle turned around. "Whath that for?"

"That's _my _lunch," Freckle answered, grabbing the tea kettle and bringing it over to the counter.

"Of courthe."

"Here's your tea." Freckle set down a saucer, a tea cup on it, in front of Mordecai, inside steaming water and a tea bag.

"Thank you," Mordecai replied.

Freckle went around and sat down in the seat next to Rocky, and began eating his sandwich, Rocky continued to dig into his pancakes, and with an effort to ignore Rocky's eating, Mordecai continued to eat his sandwich. The room was silent, as now there was normally quiet Freckle, Rocky devouring his food, and Mordecai finally getting to eat and drink something, so just about no comments were exchanged as they ate.

Rocky was the first to finish his food, having eaten them as quickly as he did. "Ten outta ten, chef Freckle. You truly are a culinary master." Rocky pushed his plate away from him some.

"Thankth," Freckle said, mouth full of sandwich.

"So, does that suffice, Mordecai? Your soul any happier, as it were?"

Mordecai swallowed, "I suppose." Indeed, trying to keep reserved and composed, this was almost certainly needed, and he already felt much further from death, perhaps even a tad less irritable.

"Great! Don't want you starving in _our_ custody!"

"Good to know you truly care." Mordecai went to take another bite of his mostly finished sandwich.

"Well of course! You matter even if you _are _trying to destroy us!" That was rather kind, given the circumstances. Mitzi seemed to want to kill him, Viktor, if here were here, certainly would, Ivy seemed to want to, and even Freckle seems to be rather unhappy with him, judging from his looks and his occasional tone of voice. Yet again, it seemed Rocky was the only one who would be able to support Mordecai in the hostile territory he'd landed himself in.

"A very nice sentiment, Rocky." Mordecai felt he was being stared at as he, looking down, took a bite of his sandwich, upon saying that. He glanced up and saw Freckle looking at him from over his cousin's shoulder. What was he trying to accomplish? It was mildly intimidating in the _current_ circumstances, seeing as he had a both Mordecai's gun and one of his own, but he was just a kid, and Mordecai could easily take him on. Was it truly just cheap subduing?

"I'm glad you agree, Mor—" Rocky was interrupted by a knocking against the glass at the front of the store. The three turned around to see a gentleman, dressed in pinstripes, rapping against the window with the knuckle of his index finger. He began to speak, but it was rendered inaudible, only the muffles of what he said being heard. "I can't hear you!" Rocky shouted back. The man tried to speak again, a tad louder, but still couldn't be heard. "What? I—"

"Why don't you get up and talk through the threshold?" mordecai suggested, a bit annoyed.

"That's a good idea." Rocky stood up as Freckle and Freckle watched on from their seats. He unlocked the door and opened it some.

The man walked over towards the opening and began to speak, "The café closed today?" This guy looked familiar to Mordecai.

"Yeah, I'm afraid it is. Probably be open tomorrow, though."

"Shame, was hoping to get some lunch." The man leaned over and peered in at Freckle and 'Mordecai on their stools inside. "What are the three of you doing inside if it's closed?" He stared at Mordecai, who stared right back. This guy was, without a doubt, familiar, but who was he?

"We're, uh, cleaning. Preparing for tomorrow."

"I see. Well I wish you the best on that." He adjusted his tie. "I'll be coming by tomorrow, if you're open, of course. Will I be seeing you then?" Rocky didn't like his tone of voice.

"Um, probably not. I work, uh, every other day here, usually, that is. But what's your name? In case we get around to meeting again?"

"You can call me Dominic." He smiled, extending his hand out.

"Rocky." Rocky put his hand out, completing the handshake.

"Rocky, alright." He pulled his hand away as the two stopped. "Rocky." He cleared his throat. "Well, I'm off. Have yourself a good day, Rocky."

"You too, Dominic!" He smiled with a fake enthusiasm. Rocky shut the door, pulling himself back inside, as Dominic began to walk away. He locked the door once again. That was all a bit concerning.

Rocky walked back to the counter and sat down. "Did that man seem… off-putting to you at all?" Mordecai asked.

"Yeah, some." Rocky checked over his shoulder, through the window.

"He seemed rather familiar for some reason…"

"Maybe…"

Rocky scratched the back of his head. Mordecai paused as he thought before taking the last bite of his sandwich. Freckle coughed. Now there was different kind of silence: a concerned one. Who was that? And did it matter? Well, without much more information, a subtle air of distrust and uncertainty continued to linger over them as they began to move past it. Surely, it didn't matter. Surely.


	7. Dievka

The rest of lunch went relatively well and comparatively much less fraying. Freckle and Mordecai finished their food shortly after Rocky, and with the three quickly falling into polite conversation, although it mostly involved just Mordecai and Rocky, they stayed at their seats and talked. Mordecai didn't want to go back to the storeroom and was truly having a nice conversation, save for the few instances where Rocky acted as he did sometimes. Rocky enjoyed asking questions of Mordecai, getting very vague, confusing insights into the mystery that enveloped him, although only barely scratching the surface, especially with some of them surely being at least white lies. And Freckle, well, Freckle didn't quite have anything else to do at the moment, but still, it _was _something interesting to do, although he continued to have spikes of concern about Mordecai, who occasionally said some disconcerting things. Yet overall, it was a nice respite.

But it still needed to stop at some point. Indeed, it was eventually noted that somewhere around an hour and a quarter had passed since Mordecai first left his captivity. And while no one really _wanted _to just lock Mordecai back up, with each having their own internal reasons for feeling as such, Rocky refused to ignore Miss M's rather sensible requests, so he began to pack his things back up, as did the other two, and they began to leave the café.

The walk back was rather silent, each thinking their own in-depth thoughts. Freckle hoped that there would be few more interactions with Mordecai before he left, as he felt uneasy about Mordecai's motives and actions. Rocky was unsure exactly what to do with himself after Mordecai was put back in the storeroom. Was he gonna keep talking to him? Was he gonna leave? Maybe he should ask Mordecai. And Mordecai, the inadvertent man of the hour in the speakeasy, regretted not trying to escape, even with the gun-child being present. He'd gotten distracted and had lost sight of his goal temporarily. And yet still, he also wanted to learn more about Rocky, Freckle too, even, although that surely was just due to the mind games and persuasion Rocky had worked to keep him distracted. Or something along those lines.

Then they reached the storeroom. Freckle stood guard at the side, the gun Mitzi had given him in his hands; he'd checked Mordecai's gun during their talk upstairs and had already found it empty. Rocky stopped slightly farther down the tunnel from the door, the two cousins creating a sort of path towards the door for Mordecai. "Welp, there you go, Mordecai," Rocky said.

Mordecai nodded silently and stepped back inside the storeroom. He was about to ask for his gun back before realizing both the futileness of convincing either of them to give him a firearm, as well as the uselessness of the gun in its current state. He took a step back, continuing to look through the threshold as Rocky pushed the door closed. Then Mordecai was in the dark. He turned the lights back on as Rocky began to lock the door once again, the clicks of the mechanisms being rather audible. He took a quick glance around the room, noticing that, yes, nothing had changed. He sat down against the wall yet again.

"So, do you want me to stay here, or should I head out, Mordecai?" Rocky asked.

"At this point, being able to collect my thoughts and relax would be nice," Mordecai stated.

"So should I go?"

"Yes, if you would."

"Alright then." Then quieter, "We can head out, Freckle." Footsteps began to echo down the hall. "See ya tomorrow then, Mordecai!"

Mordecai thought for just a moment. He suddenly remembered yet another thing that would have been useful to have remembered when he had that hour of freedom. "Would there be some time in the near future to bathe and have clothes laundered?"

The footsteps stopped. Then began moving closer. "I'm sure I could work something out that would let you bathe tomorrow if I talk with Miss M about it. She's understanding, she'll get it." Rocky paused. "As for laundry, well… I could bring some clothes of mine tomorrow, just freshly laundered. They should fit."

"Freshly laundered? As in, clean?" Ignoring the potential for Rocky's distasteful fashion to shine through, what truly mattered was that it actually was clean, especially given Rocky's clothes after simply eating earlier.

"Yup."

"I suppose that'll suffice." Mordecai supposed that Rocky's clothes _would_ fit him. He hadn't quite noticed it, but the two _were _of rather similar height, Mordecai was a couple of inches taller, granted, and nearly identical builds, so surely they would fit, only perhaps being a tad short. Hopefully that wouldn't be the case, but he could only hope that Rocky would have the foresight to bring slightly larger clothes, given the slight, but certainly existent, difference.

"Nothing but the best for _our _hostages."

"Well isn't that just swell?"

"Sure is. Sure is." Rocky began to walk away. "Well, bye, Mordecai."

"Bye." Mordecai was being perhaps too polite towards his captors, he noted.

Now it was quiet again. Mordecai was substantially less worried about dying here, although no less worried about what might happen once he escaped. That would be disastrous, truly. But now, he had a chance to try to make up for lost sleep from last night. He shifted around, eventually laying down in a similar position and spot as he did the night prior. Just a nap. That would be nice.

Ivy stood outside of the door of Viktor's abode. She'd knocked just a moment ago, and had heard no response. She supposed that was to be expected. Ivy sighed, opening the door. Inside, it was mostly the same as her last visit. The radio was back on the ground like last time, unpowered and silent. That was something, right? She glanced towards Viktor from the radio. He still sat in that chair, the blanket somewhat covering him.

"Hey, Viktor! How're you feeling today?" Ivy walked over towards him, smiling faintly.

"Eh," Viktor quietly groaned.

"That's good. Have you had anything to eat?"

"No."

"Well, did you try?"

"No."

Ivy exhaled. "You managed to turn the radio off, the least you could do is try to eat something."

"It's okay."

"Ugh, you're so stubborn sometimes, Viktor. How are you gonna put yourself back together if you don't even try?"

"I did. I fixed Bapka's sink."

"You went and fixed Mrs. Bapka's sink? You're in no condition to even get up, Viktor!"

"Vas fine. Stretched legs, got blood going." Viktor coughed into his hand.

"You should just take the opportunity to relax and try to close up those chest holes. I know it's not really in your nature, but it's for the best."

"Good advice, dievka. Very vise, you are."

"I know." Ivy sat down on a nearby chair, scooting it closer to Viktor. "Do you need anything in particular?"

"No." He shifted slightly, grimacing as he did. "How is Mitzi and business?"

"It's okay. Some Marigold lackeys came by last night and busted the place some, but I think Mitzi's handling it right now. It's crazy though, they just broke in and shot apart the furniture and the lights and stuff, and Mitzi's been on the phone basically the whole day because of it. But, she sent me here because we need some good alcohol to sell, and we're sure that you know of a good place."

"Ya. They can go to Defiance— buy drinks there from mortuary."

"Where's Defiance? And why does the funeral home have liquor?"

"West some. I used to vork vith them. They used business to smuggle on trains."

"Oh, neat."

"But you stay out of it, dievka."

"Hey, I can go smuggle alcohol, too!"

"Dangerous. Haff Rocky go. He's expendable."

"Well I'm not sure he'd have a chance to— him and Calvin are busy right now, which is why _I_ came. They're— oh yeah! Some guy got locked in the storeroom and is a hostage or something now. They're keeping watch on him." She paused. "Well actually, you know him, don't you?"

"Who?"

"Um… Mordecai, was it? I'm _pretty _sure that he's—"

"Mordecai?" Viktor, sitting up some, wondered loudly, at least compared to his muttering tone before. He had a small coughing fit into his hand, having shouted too loudly in his current state.

"You okay?"

"Ya. Vhat is Mordecai doing there?"

"Not much. He's been locked up in the storeroom since he broke in with those other Marigolds. And I told him off earlier for shooting you in the knees and for breaking in, so he should realize his wrongdoings and feel guilty."

"Vell, I should pay him visit." Viktor started to get up. Ivy quickly got up and ushered him back into the chair.

"You're not going back there, Viktor! Especially not just to harass Mordecai! At least wait until you've recovered."

"Not harass. Just talk."

"I hope you realize I don't believe that. And again, maybe you can do that later, in a couple weeks or something if he's still there." She sat back down.

Viktor sighed. "Fine. Vould you do favor for me, dievka?"

"Sure!" She perked up in her seat.

"Open drawer there." He pointed to the drawer closest to Ivy on the table beneath the window.

"Here?" She opened the drawer as she spoke. She looked in. It was full of papers, small tools, and various trinkets, practically overfilling the container. "It's full of junk."

"Ya. Look in the bottom."

Ivy rooted around through all the stuff, pushing things out of the way. "Okay?"

"See broken glasses?"

Indeed, there was a pair of dusty broken glasses, one of the lenses completely missing while the other was heavily cracked. She grabbed them carefully. "These?" She held them up.

"Ya. Give those to Mordecai. Tell him it's from me."

"Alright." She closed the drawer, pocketing the glasses. She sat back down. "Is that it?"

"That's it, dievka."

"Alright, I'll do that."

"Thanks." He slumped his arms over the armrests of the chair.

"...Let's get you some lunch, then."

"I'm fine."

"Nah, let's get you some lunch. Turn the radio back on while we're at it." Standing up, she grabbed the radio off of the floor and set it back on the table. Viktor groaned. Ivy plugged the radio back into the wall and tuned it to a music station.

Ivy spent the next hour or two conversing with Viktor and working to make sure he was alright while he recovered. She'd come by yesterday, but she'd only had enough time to check in. Now she made sure that Viktor had something to eat, something to drink, at that he wasn't overexerting himself while he still had buckshot in his chest. Viktor appreciated Ivy's efforts, but that didn't stop him from being woefully annoyed.

Mordecai had worked his way back into their path. He'd worked his way back into the Lackadaisy, physically, even. That was a mistake on his part because when Viktor had the chance, he was surely going to have, at the least, a long arduous conversation with him. Maybe bust his spectacles too, but he'd just have to wait and see how things turned out. In the meantime, he waited for his bullet holes to close up, and put up with Ivy's genuine, but somewhat bothersome help. Viktor was going to show Mordecai what was what.


	8. Telephone

There was a knock at the door to Asa's office, where he was busy pouring over reports and documents on his desk. He shuffled them back into a folder before closing and setting it aside. "Come on in," he called out, looking up now. The door opened up and the Savoys walked in. Asa grabbed the cigar out of his mouth with his thumb and index finger as they closed the door behind them. "Where the hell have you two been? I told you to come back to me when you were _done. _It's been a whole damn morning already."

"We bin busy," Nico said, leaning against the wall.

"Busy with what?" Asa paused as he quickly glanced between the two, "And where's Heller?"

"Oh, he's, uh—"

"What happened? Did you put Mitzi out?"

"We shot tings, see? Mais, we got chased out," Serafine explained.

"Chased out? By who?"

"Some couple. Dey got guns."

Asa put the cigar back in his mouth. "So do you."

"We had a feelin' dat we oughta leave. Was dangerous," Nico elaborated.

"Fat chance. You two have had no shortage of zeal when it's come to these sorts of things; you're lying."

"Nah, was really—" The phone rang as Nico spoke.

"Ah. Whaddya bet it's Mitzi boastin' about how not even my own agents could take her out?" He grabbed the earpiece and held it up to his ear. "Hello."

"You thought you could snuff me out, Asa?" Mitzi asked.

"Oh, Mitzi, what a pleasure." He glared at the Savoys as he leaned back in his seat some.

"Doubtful. I know that what happened in my place of business last night was _your _doing, Asa."

"I've got no idea what you're talking about, doll. I've been working out of my own place of business the whole night, keepin' busy. Certainly too busy to waste time bothering _you._"

"I know full well that—"

"Mitzi, we both know there are better places to talk about this than on the phone." Nico pushed himself on the wall with his elbow and started heading towards the door. He held up his finger and sat straight again, looking at him with an unhappy glance.

"...I have Mordecai."

"You… what d'ya mean you _have _Mordecai?" He furrowed his brow some, both concerned and confused.

"I mean I _have _him. He's locked up in that storeroom you sent him to clean out right now."

"...Give me a moment, if you would be so kind."

"Of course." There was a distinct smirk in her voice.

Asa covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "What the hell happened? Why's Mordecai been taken hostage? And with the _last _people I'd expect?"

"Wasn' our fault," Nico declared.

"What on Earth do you mean 'not your'— I'm getting distracted; I'll deal with you two after this call." He uncovered the mouthpiece and spoke again, "Thanks, sweetheart."

"Of course," Mitzi audibly smiled.

"So, Mordecai."

"Mordecai."

"What're you gonna do with him?"

"Oh, I don't know. Have him arrested. Shot, perhaps." Mitzi sighed, sounding bored.

"Hah, always loved your sense of humor, darling. Such a comic." He looked subtly nervous.

"Yes, well. I suppose it's up to you what's done with him."

"Such as…?"

"Well, ceasing your nighttime raids is a good first step."

"I'm not gonna go against my best interests just for some scrawny misfit, Mitzi. Keep him, if that's what you want so bad." He mashed the end of his cigar into an ashtray, the ash on the end of it falling off.

"Well, I'd be glad to keep him for as long as it takes. We'll keep him there in the storeroom, see how scrawny he gets. I'm just trying to help _you; _he does us no good just locked up in a closet. Surely you'd appreciate him back."

"An interesting strategy, Mitzi, trying to intimidate me. It's adorable, really. But we don't need him. Go ahead, starve him. He hasn't done us anything useful yet."

"Except rob our storeroom, raid us, provide insider knowledge… Of course he's useful to you, Asa, you're just bluffing." She paused. "I have the upper hand here, Sweet, no need to pretend you don't need him."

"And you have no need to pretend you'll kill him and lose that supposed upper hand, May."

"Oh, I'd be plenty happy to do so, if it means weakening you, Asa. We can pretend this is some sort of friendly rivalry, but you've worked it into a blood feud, and so I'll play along. See how much blood we can spill."

"No remorse for a former employee? Friend?" Asa chortled, "Maybe this new business life _has _gotten to you."

"And maybe the hubris of feeling on top has gotten to _you, _Asa. All it takes is a few wrong steps for it to fall apart. Believe me, I've felt it."

"Precisely true, Mitzi. That's why I feel you should—"

"Don't try to change the subject here. I have Mordecai. I'll let him perish of that's what it takes. What do you want to do about it?"

Asa exhaled. "Nothing. Have him. Indoctrinate him, if you can. I've no shortage of willing workers, and nothing you say can scare me into submission here, Mitzi. I'm done with your hostage haggling and such, Mitzi. Instead, let's talk about how your whole ancient empire is on the verge of total and complete collapse."

"You can say these things as much as you want, it doesn't make them true, as it were. Things are going fine here. And we've just recently gotten some help from a faithful source."

"Would love to see what that does for you, darling. But it's hard to believe that everything's all peachy with you, given that your attitude at our lunch the other day seemed a bit downtrodden and plenty hopeless. But I guess this supposed 'upper hand' of yours is enough to feel that you're doing fine, huh?"

"I _am _doing fine. And you'll see that when the time comes, Asa."

"Oh! S'that a threat, sweetheart?"

"Perhaps it was. You'll see in time, won't you?"

"I suppose we will. See ya then, doll."

"Farewell."

Asa hung the earpiece back up on the hook, ending the call. He sat still for a moment and then sighed. "That was absolutely too much to have divulged on the phone. Could come back to bite me." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, you two." He looked up. "What's your excuse for this?"

"Already 'splained ourselves," Nico said.

"That's a load of hooey, Nico. What _actually _happened? Why'd the two of you fail to do what you were told to do and leave Mordecai in the dust? You left him so poorly off that he managed to get kidnapped by _Mitzi?_"

"We did nuthin' to him. He jus' a sorry lil' bébé," Serafine lamented.

"Okay, whatever— why'd you leave him high and dry?"

"Wasn' safe dere," Nico reiterated.

"Okay, so neither of you really wanna tell me, then. Fine. That's fine. Keep your secrets, I don't need to know; can I _at all _trust you to finish the job in time?"

"We'll get 'em if we hit 'em again."

Asa sighed. "Okay, if you, when the time is right, carry out the rest of that job, then I can conveniently forget that you went against my orders and completely and utterly failed, and we can each go our own ways without consequence. Okay?" He took a puff from the cigar.

"Souns good."

"Splendid. Now get out of my office and get yourselves together lest I reprimand the hell out of you two." Nico gave a thumbs up before the two exited the office, closing the door behind them. Asa relaxed in his seat, the cigar between his fingers. What a shitshow that was.

Mitzi sighed. Her breathing was a tad labored and irregular. That was more than she'd bargained for when she dialed Asa. And she didn't quite get what she wanted. But, at the very least, she could tell that she'd gotten to him some. She heard him yelling at those in his office, and she'd heard those subtle tones in his voice that let her know she'd succeeded some. It was a good first step, she supposed. Of course, a lot of it was stretching the truth, some of it straight up lies, but she had to do what she had to do, and this she had to do. Mitzi sat back up, having leaned back a tad. Now wasn't the time for doubt or regret; she had more phone calls to make if she was to salvage all of this.


	9. Defectors

There was a knock at the door. Mordecai's eyes shot open as he was suddenly woken up. "One moment," he mumbled as he scanned the ground with his hands, eventually coming upon his glasses, which he donned. He blinked the bleariness out of his eyes. He stood up and dusted himself and walked over towards the door before suddenly realizing he was locked in, not vice versa, and couldn't open the door. "Yes?"

"It's Rocky!" Rocky beamed from behind the door, his enthusiasm certainly not getting muffled by the door.

"Well, hello again. What do you want?" Mordecai looked over towards the light switch, debating internally whether to turn it on and blind himself or keep it off and stay in the dark.

"You said yesterday that you wanted time to bathe, right?"

Mordecai's ears perked up. That was certainly both true and important to him. "Yes. And?"

"Well, you can go ahead and do that now."

"And where might that be?"

"Upstairs, in Miss M.'s. You should be able to shower and such there."

"...And she _allowed _such a thing? Given Mitzi's present attitude towards me, I find that quite hard to believe."

"No, she didn't really. She's, uh, not here right now. But I'm sure she wouldn't mind… not hearing anything about it. Besides, it's not gonna hurt anyone."

"Interesting. A stark change of stance from you compared to yesterday."

"Well, I don't think it's that big of a deal; what're you gonna do from the bathtub? Bankrupt us by raising the water bill?" Rocky paused. "Oh, maybe you could do that. Maybe I should—"

"I won't do such a thing. I simply want to clean myself; nothing nefarious." This seemed to be the only opportunity to bathe presented to him, and he didn't want to lose it now due to paranoia.

"Okay. Don't do something that changes my mind about this, Mordecai. I'd get in plenty of trouble if you do something like that, and I don't wanna deal with something like that happening here."

"You have my word. Bathe, and nothing more."

"Alright." Rocky began to unlock the door as evidenced by the clunks of the mechanisms. "Oh, by the way, I got those freshly laundered clothes."

"Oh, good."

A moment passed, and then the door was opened. Mordecai's eyes barely had to adjust to the dimly lit corridor. Within it was Rocky, standing right in front of him, and Freckle, off to the side, the pistol from yesterday in his hands. "Have you got everything you need?" Rocky smirked.

Mordecai glanced behind him before suddenly realizing that of course he did. Disregarding his hat, everything he had with him here was on his person now. Well, and that gun, but that didn't matter too much now. "Yes."

"Alright then, we're off." Rocky started down the tunnel. "Freckle, same marshalling as yesterday."

The three headed a different direction than they had yesterday, going almost the exact opposite direction as they walked through the tunnels.

"...Why are we going in _this_ direction?"

"Ivy's managing the café up there, and it was pretty busy last I checked, and we can't be revealing secret passages and whatnot to the patrons. Also, I didn't close the garage door when I came down earlier, so I thought I'd swing by and close it."

"I see."

They climbed up the steps that lead into the garage, Rocky holding his hand above his head to push the trapdoor open. He held it open as the three stepped into the garage before letting go, it dropping back down with a slam.

"Uh, Rocky?" Freckle said meekly.

"Yes?" Rocky turned towards Freckle, who was to his right.

Freckle sheepishly pointed towards the other side of the garage, where the door was open. Rocky turned his head to his left and saw someone standing inside the garage, having taken a few steps into it. Their ears had perked, which Freckle noticed was due to the trapdoor's noise.

Rocky began walking towards them. "What're you doing in here?" A few steps towards him, his eyes adjusted and he recognized who it was: Dominic, from yesterday.

"Oh, excuse me. I saw that you'd left the door open here, and, well, it looked rather empty in here a moment ago. I was wondering if something had happened."

"Oh, uh, okay." He was standing over the crates Freckle and Zib had offloaded the other day, all of which were still unopened. Rocky continued to take the last few steps towards Dominic that remained between the two, slower now, however.

"Hey, don't I know you?"

"Uh, I don't think tha—"

He snapped his fingers. "Rocky. You were cleaning out the café yesterday."

"Oh. Yep, that was me. Hah, how could I have forgotten about that?" Rocky looked subtly over his shoulder to see if Freckle was holding the gun so that the others could see it. Fortunately, he'd pocketed it already.

"Well, we all forget things sometimes, don't we?"

"Too true." Rocky smiled, feeling awkward and as if this was all both suspicious and precarious.

"Well. I see that everything's alright around here, then, so I'll just lead myself out."

"Oh, okay."

"Again, sorry for intruding. And I already ate at the café, but I hope to see you there if I swing by again some other day, okay?" He began to walk out of the garage.

"Of course. Take care now!" Rocky waved, smiling. As soon as he was out of view and away Rocky immediately stopped smiling. "That guy creeps me out. What was he doing?"

"He was looking at the crates me and Zib unloaded before you closed that hatch," Freckle noted.

"Hmm. I don't know about him. Why do you think he keeps coming around here?" Freckle shrugged. "Exactly." Rocky glanced around the garage, checking to see if there was anything else amiss. "Well, let's keep going, then." Freckle pulled the gun out of pocket, leading Mordecai with a hand on his shoulder; now that they were about to leave the building, giving Mordecai a much easier escape possibility, he had to be extra careful about making sure that he didn't. Rocky had told him to do that earlier— he'd been clear about it and how it was important in making sure that Rocky was able to keep his job at the speakeasy. Freckle obliged.

The three left the garage, stopping just outside of it so that Rocky could close the garage door. Once he did, the three being wary of Dominic's possible lingering, they began to head towards the café and, more importantly, Mitzi's abode.

They rounded the corner and passed the window of the café. Freckle tapped Rocky on the shoulder, getting his attention. Rocky turned. "Et maintenant?"

"Uh…" Freckle pointed towards the window of the café, where inside Ivy was waving down the three, clearly trying to get their attention.

"Oh. Well, let's pay her a visit then." Rocky led the others into the café and towards the counter.

The three sat down at some empty stools. Freckle had the gun in his pocket now but still had a firm grasp on it. His other hand was still on Mordecai's shoulder, who was starting to get annoyed by it. "Hey Freckle!" Ivy smiled.

"Hi," Freckle replied.

"What're you doing with your hand on him?" Ivy asked, pointing at Mordecai while leaning on the counter with her elbow.

"It's, uh, a precaution."

"Oh, uh, sure." Ivy looked subtly confused. "Anway, other than getting a chance to see you, Freckle, you're the person I'm supposed to talk to." She signalled Mordecai again with a slight head nod.

"Are you going to berate me on Viktor's behalf again?" Mordecai asked.

"No, but it does _involve _him." She stood up straight and began searching her pockets. Mordecai looked puzzled.

Ivy stopped rummaging through her pockets and pulled out the pair of broken glasses Viktor had given her the day before. She held them out to Mordecai, who grabbed them. "Uh, Viktor wanted me to give these to you, whatever for."

Mordecai turned the glasses in his hand, studying them. They were very familiar. He knew exactly what these were from; they were his, back before his unceremonious departure. Of course, the frame wasn't so bent and the lenses weren't so broken and missing last time he'd seen them. It was just surprising that Viktor still had them. Wait, Viktor had them and wanted this girl to give them to him. "Viktorwanted you to _give _these to me?"

"Uh, yeah. Why?"

"So that would mean that Viktor knows that I'm here? In your… residence?"

"Yeah, I told him when I went to go see him yesterday."

Mordecai stared into the middle distance for a moment before putting the glasses away in his pocket. "Well, I certainly hope he doesn't end up stopping by for a visit." Mordecai cleared his throat. "Well, thank you, little girl."

"Of course. And it's Ivy. You should remember that for next time I yell at you about Viktor."

"Noted."

"Oh, by the way, Ivy," Rocky began, Ivy glancing over at him, "did someone named Dominic come in here for breakfast or lunch or whatever earlier today?"

"Uh, I don't think so."

"Kinda older, grey fur, dressed pretty nicely, creepy?"

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"Hmm, alright. Well, thanks anyway." So most likely, Dominic didn't actually stop in for any food, seeing as Ivy had been in the café the whole morning. Very suspicious. "And if you'll excuse us, there's some business to be attended to upstairs."

"Oh, well, go ahead. I'll be down here if you need me, serving eggs and toast and all that."

Someone sitting a bit down the length of the counter leaned over and waved down Ivy. "Do you perchance have some salt?" It was a rather old man sitting over some scrambled eggs and toast.

"Yeah, here you go." Ivy handed the man a salt shaker. She turned back to the boys. "Living the life, as you can see."

"Clearly." Rocky stood up, prompting the others to do the same. He headed towards the door. "Farewell then."

"See ya." Ivy paused. "Oh, and stop by again later today if you can, Freckle."

Freckle nodded before the three exited the café. They then entered Mitzi's and climbed up the steps to her abode. Freckle let go of Mordecai's shoulder and pulled the gun from his pocket. Mordecai didn't seem to have any chance to run away, it seemed. Although, he'd mostly forgotten about doing that, as it were. Maybe all this appeasement on behalf of Mitzi and her agents was working and was distracting him from the prospect of escape. Or perhaps he was losing his edge. Mordecai couldn't quite tell right now.

Rocky led Mordecai to the bathroom, Freckle following behind. "Me and Freckle are gonna sit over here." He gestured towards some seating relatively near the bathroom, "I don't think I need to stand over you like before; just don't try to escape, okay?"

"Of course," Mordecai answered dryly.

"Oh, and the clothes should be in there already— I went ahead and set them in there earlier."

"Thank you."

"Alright then, go ahead, have fun." Rocky half-waved as the two began to walk towards the aforementioned seating.

Mordecai passed through the doorway into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He'd been in here before, of course, back when he worked here. It was a humble little bathroom, larger than the one downstairs, of course, as it had to accommodate the bathtub. Besides, with the Mays' wealth and style back when it was built, they wouldn't have settled for anything _too_ commonplace. But it was a strangely unsettling, even disconcerting feeling, being here, for some reason.

Draped on the basin of the sink were the clothes that Rocky had mentioned. They looked clean and were folded surprisingly neatly, given Mordecai's current view of Rocky and his hygiene. It looked like tweed— herringbone. But Mordecai would judge the fashion and such of it after he took his shower; right now it didn't quite matter. He reached for the faucet handles and turned the water on, which began to spill into the tub. Once the water was going he began to disrobe, folding the clothes he'd taken off and setting it neatly aside. Once finished, he'd removed his glasses and set them upon the pile.

Pulling the curtain closed and letting the warm water spray from the shower head onto him, he realized that this was exactly what he needed. He no longer needed to wear his now uncomfortable and dirtied suit and could revel in some well-appreciated warmth that hadn't been present in the somewhat cold caves he'd been sleeping in. He reached over and grabbed a bar of soap which he wet with the stream. He began to meticulously scrub himself down with it.

So, Mordecai was still in captivity. Honestly, he'd expected that he'd have formulated some sort of escape plan by now, but he was still left drawing a blank. Whenever he'd been led out of the confines of the storeroom, Freckle was always there, gun in hand. Sure, he wasn't a formidable-looking foe, but he had lost his gun and his companions and was in the middle of his enemy's territory, so even that little kid presented a real danger in his current state. And there was very little chance of trying to escape from the storeroom; it was built well, locked up well, and Mordecai had no particular means of dealing with that. So, even now, Mordecai would just have to stay where he was for now.

Viktor knew he was here now. That was a disconcerting thought. Sure, he currently had faulty knees and a chest full of blood, but he was more dangerous than he looked at any given point. And he'd wanted to give Mordecai those glasses? What exactly did that mean? That at best could be potential… emotional manipulation? At worst it was a thinly veiled threat, but Mordecai, even having been with him for so long in the past, wasn't able to draw conclusions on his very vague message. He just had to hope that Viktor didn't try to explain it in person.

And Rocky. For some reason, it continued to stick out to Mordecai how he'd put himself in possible risk just for Mordecai's sake. Sure, Rocky was just letting him take a shower, but _Mordecai _wouldn't trust himself in Rocky's shoes, so why did _he? _Mordecai appreciated it, but it seemed like a needless risk Rocky took for him, especially as juxtaposed to his attitude yesterday. He emphasized several times that he didn't wish to go against Mitzi's orders, so why did he now try to rationalize just that? What was the purpose of that? It wasn't quite admirable from either side's perspective, defecting from his superiors, yet Mordecai seemed to hold him in high regards for it, and it wasn't quite clear why. Why did he do it and why was it so fascinating? What was it about Rocky that continued to stick out to him? Mordecai would mull over it some more.


	10. Kneecapping

It was early morning. Sunbeams began to sneak into the bedroom with the sun having risen, even with the curtains drawn. The sounds of birds could be heard from outside the window. Together, they stirred Viktor awake. He slowly shifted on the bed, blearily turning over to his side. He inhaled slowly, letting it out with a sigh. Viktor reached over, searching with his hand for a moment, and to his surprise, he found no one there. He rubbed the sleep out of his good eye and sat up, glancing across the room. It was empty. He groaned and pulled his legs over the edge of the bed. He stretched before sitting there for a moment. Then, Viktor shuffled out of the bedroom with a yawn.

Viktor lumbered down the hall, wanting a good cup of coffee. Or perhaps a well-prepared breakfast. He scratched the back of his neck as he walked, careful to lift his feet over the one nail that wasn't completely hammered in. And it was mere moments before he found who he was looking for. Mordecai sat by the window, drinking tea and eating some toast. Mordecai noticed Viktor and finished taking his sip of tea, putting it back down on a saucer on the table under the window. He cleared his throat before speaking, "Good morning, Viktor."

"Should haff expected you to get up so early. We haff the day off, yet you must stick to schedule like life depends on it," Viktor said, continuing over towards Mordecai. He seated himself on another chair on the other side of the window.

"There's nothing wrong with sticking to a schedule." He grabbed his plate from the table and took a bite of his toast, holding the plate beneath it.

"No reason to. Better to sleep in, at least today."

"I enjoy being productive, even on these days off we get."

"But ve don't need to. Vaste of time."

"We can just agree to disagree." Viktor sighed breathily. Mordecai's eyes narrowed a moment later. "Ugh, don't do that; your breath smells awful."

"Just voke up, vhat do you vant from me?"

"Smell better."

Viktor began to stand up. "Vell, if you haff nothing to say that m—"

"Actually, regarding work, there's something I need we need to talk about, Viktor." Mordecai crossed his legs.

Viktor sat back down. "Ya?"

"Well," Mordecai took a sip of his tea, readying himself for whatever would ensue, "since Atlas's death, things have changed at work, clearly. Atlas often managed things surprisingly well. But now things are different; Atlas no longer manages things, naturally. And I have respect for Mitzi's effort so far, but—"

"Vhat do you mean vith that?"

"...And, I have respect for Mitzi's effort so far, but it's clear that it's not enough in place of Atlas. She's been trying her best, certainly, and it's definitely commendable, but businesses all across the city have been taking advantage of Atlas's death, especially the Marigolds. And as a result, things are starting to fall apart. You surely must have noticed this, Viktor."

"No."

Mordecai sighed. "You haven't noticed the effects of everything that's been happening?"

"No."

"The others' departures? The irregularity in which we get our paychecks now? The rumors of bankruptcy which have been spreading about? Even just the look in Mitzi's eyes when you talk to her? None of that?"

"No."

"Well, regardless of whether you have or haven't noticed, it's true. We get paid at odd times, with a pattern that's been absolutely butchered from its original schedule. Many of our co-workers keep leaving left and right. Customers keep shifting over to the Maribel, causing profits to go down dramatically— I've seen it in the records, the employee payments, too. And when we get sent out for alcohol, we've been put in increasingly dangerous positions. Yet still—"

"Over-exaggerating, I think."

"I'm doing anything of the sort. These things _are_ actually happening, Viktor, you might just have not noticed."

"Not noticed cause it's not real."

Mordecai adjusted his glasses, lowering his voice, which had been getting louder as the two argued. "Regardless, I believe it's time we do the same as some of the others and depart from Lackadaisy." He spoke slowly and with impact.

"You vant to quit?" Viktor's eyebrows raised as he leaned forward in his seat.

"Well, yes. Things are at the point where, in almost every way, staying with it isn't the smart move, so—"

"Vhere's loyalty? Just cause you think it's vorse, you quit?"

"It's a bit more than that, Viktor. This is a clear—"

"Business has up and downs. This is just down."

"It's more than just business or profit fluctuations; I've worked here almost as long as you have, and this is a clear down—"

"Just cause Atlas dies, you run off?"

"No, Viktor, it's not like that."

"Vhat is it like?"

"I know Atlas has done a lot for you, Viktor, that much is obvious; he'd done a lot for me, too. I certainly don't want to discredit him or be disrespectful, but this is an issue of our own well-beings and our own futures now. We need to keep ourselves from being backed into any sort of corner or from being killed, especially as we keep taking more of the brunt of the work that needs to be done. Not to mention, it would be better to let the business cease operations rather than slowly fade away. And staying would accomplish the latter, simply delaying the inevitable."

"...Is this all some joke?"

"No, Viktor, this all completely genuine. It's my informed opinion, looking at the numbers and the overall trends, that we ought to leave. And ignoring both the money and safety arguments for leaving—"

"You are se—"

"_Damn it_, Viktor, let me finish one thought." Mordecai rubbed his forehead for a moment. "Ignoring those, work's been causing stress on both of us. Just now, you could tell, couldn't you?"

"That's just you. Moody."

"It's not— See? We both have been stressed from work, the assignments that have been nearly resulting in our deaths, the issues we had last week paying for water because of that paycheck that came late, the less time we've been able to spend together; it's been putting a strain on us and our relationship. I don't want there to be some sort of problem with us just because work has been taxing."

"You could stay in bed vith me in mornings. Not leave to drink tea and eat toast."

"That's not remotely the point. There have been issues beyond me _waking up early. _Remember that argument we had the other day? That happened after we got home from work, and it was about where the _keys _were, yet it still managed to cause you to nearly yell yourself hoarse."

"That's cause you left keys behind."

"It's— You're really bringing this back up? Are you not over it?"

"I am. You brought it up again."

Mordecai paused, adjusting his glasses. His hands were a little shaky, he noticed, as he pushed the frames back up the bridge of his nose. "We're done with that. The point of this is that work has been made harder for us, and it's been having a clear effect on us that could be resolved by leaving work."

"Still don't see how that solves anything."

"I've just explained. It can clearly benefit us by—"

"Okay. Fine. Vhat after that?"

"Well, we can find work somewhere else. There are plenty of other shady operations in St. Louis for us to join in on."

"Marigolds?"

"I've considered it, yes. If you feel the same about it as I do, then we can—"

"You vant to vork for Marigolds? Leave Lackadaisy for Marigolds?"

"It's a possibility for us after we leave." Mordecai narrowed his gaze on Viktor. "Which you will be doing, right?"

"No."

"No? But Viktor, there's no shortage of reason how—"

"No. Von't do it."

Mordecai sighed. He'd been readying himself the whole morning for this _exact _verdict, yet it still struck him by surprise. It was an absolutely disappointing development, which would easily ruin Mordecai's plans and his hopes. Viktor wasn't as easy to sway as Mordecai had wanted or hoped it would be. He was just like that. Viktor had always been rather stubborn and grouchy. And he'd almost certainly developed some sort of hubris or complex after all of the times that Viktor had emerged on top in things. He definitely had a bit of a firm grasp on Mordecai at times, and it wasn't hard to argue that it had gone to his head.

"Well, then. That's a shame to hear."

"So none of that then."

"Not quite." Viktor cocked his head to the side. "I've already made up my mind and have made my arrangements; I'm going to be leaving today."

"Vhat do you mean? You just going to leave?"

"Yes, I'm afraid. I was truly hoping that you'd be swayed to my side, but I suppose you're stuck in your position. That's fine, I suppose, but I'm going to keep on with my plans. At this time tomorrow, I will no longer be working for Mitzi."

"Vell, tomorrow I still vork there."

"I know. And I won't be."

"...You're too sudden about this."

"I've been planning this out for a month, Viktor. This isn't sudden at all. It's all rather calculated, really."

"First time I hear about it, today."

"That's just because I've been waiting for a good time, for my plans to come together, for confirmation that I was right. Not to mention, I've been mentioning this for a couple weeks now."

"No, you haven't."

"I have, Viktor. I've been mentioning how things have been going downhill for the business for at least a week or two now. I've been asking about getting other jobs in the future."

"That's not 'mentioning'. That's nothing."

"Well, I didn't want to be too brash about it before I was sure about it. And if I'd mentioned it before you would have acted like you are now: insufferable and indistinctly angry."

"You're not sure now!"

"I _am _sure about it! And I've made my mind up about it, so no amount of shouting at me will solve that.

"You are doing this too fast. Need to think about it."

"I have thought. I've thought plenty more than you have about this issue— you don't even seem to notice any of the problems that have arisen."

"Vell, there von't be Marigolds in this place." Viktor gestured broadly at the space around him, "You should think about it more. Not just yourself."

"I already had your input, and you seem entirely dead set on being an opponent to everything I say, so I think all of the thinking about it has been done by now."

"Then vhat? You leave vork, join Marigolds?"

"Perhaps."

"Vell, then you _should _think more, cause I von't have Marigolds here."

"Fine then. If that's how you want it to be, then I can leave; I'm already all set to do so." Mordecai stood up from his chair.

"Mordecai," Viktor stood up suddenly, "stop."

"I already made up my mind, and it would seem that you have, too. That's fine then. I'll be on my way, out of your Marigold-free space, Viktor."

"Hold on." Viktor grabbed Mordecai by the shoulders.

Mordecai's eyes suddenly felt like they would bulge out of his head, and he reached into his coat and pulled out his pistol, pushing Viktor away with the same motion. He held it in front of him, like he was trying to block something. "Don't grab me, Viktor. I _will _shoot you. I'll shoot you in the leg, I swear. I don't want it to come to that, but you can't stop me from doing what I want to do here."

Viktor crossed his arms, continuing to stand where he was before Mordecai pulled out a gun. "Not afraid of you, little one. Ve can do this without guns."

"Indeed. And that involves you moving out of the way so that I can leave and be on my way."

"Can't."

"Yes, you can." Mordecai clenched his teeth together. This was as infuriating as it was devastating and terrifying.

"Von't. You need to think about this."

"Goddamnit, Viktor, I've thought _enough, _let me past."

Mordecai took a step towards the door. Viktor slammed his hand down on Mordecai's shoulder as he began to move past him. "You—"

Mordecai immediately swung around and, after hastily aiming, shot Viktor in his left leg, right in the knee. Mordecai's pupils contracted to tiny dots in his eyes as he turned, completing his shot in less than a second. Viktor's hand was thrown off from his shoulder before Viktor grunted from the pain, stumbling back a pace or two.

Viktor looked down, seeing the wound and the blood on his leg. He looked up, not looking particularly happy. He shifted the weight onto the still healthy leg as he scowled at Mordecai, full of rage.

"I gave you fair warning, Viktor. Now—"

Viktor screamed as sprinted forward, ducking down, ready to tackle Mordecai to the ground. "You rotten son of a—"

Mordecai fired again. He took a step back, quickly reacting to the danger at hand. The bullet left the chamber with a loud bang, landing in Viktor's other leg. The pain and sudden damage of it had him no longer running right, and he fell to the ground, crashing into Mordecai's legs. He fell to the ground, his glasses flying off of his face.

Mordecai quickly stood up, which couldn't be said for Viktor, who was now bleeding from both legs. He glanced around the floor, unable to find his glasses, before hearing a crunch as Viktor shifted on the floor. He wasn't going to get those back, then. Fine.

Viktor groaned as he bled out onto the floor, the pain of his now busted legs taking a toll on him of the likes Mordecai hadn't quite seen from him, in the years he'd worked with him. It was certainly unsettling to see. Not to mention, it was completely saddening; that was almost certainly the end of their relationship.

"I warned you Viktor. I said I would do it."

"Choď do pekla!" Viktor leaned off the ground some, enough to see Mordecai and curse him. He let his head fall back to the ground and he continued to be unable to do anything about both the bleeding and the pain.

Mordecai noticed all of the blood as he looked down, only seeing a lot of blurry red. "You ought to call Quackenbush for that; you're bleeding a lot here."

Viktor only grunted and tried to grab Mordecai's tea saucer and throw it at him, but failed. "Alright then, I'm off. Best of luck to you, Viktor," Mordecai said with a tip of his hat. He opened the door and exited, leaving Viktor bleeding on the floor. He'd gotten what he was after, but without the agreement of Viktor. Not to mention, without any of his living space or relationship, either. It would basically be time to start anew.

That all could have gone better, then, he decided.


	11. Bad Things

Mordecai shut off the water. The stream quickly slowed to a steady drip. The last of the water sank into the drain as he reached over for a nearby towel. He began to dry himself with it, rubbing it into his wet fur. After burying his face into it, drying it off, he reached out and donned his glasses, which allowed him to see clearly once again. He continued to dry the rest of himself with the towel.

He'd recounted on that encounter that produced the broken glasses he'd received while in the shower. It wasn't a very pleasant memory. And mulling over it didn't quite give any clues as to why Viktor might have wanted to give those glasses back to him. Viktor knew he was here, and then he decided to just send this grim memento as his silent messenger? What could its meaning be? Mordecai certainly wasn't going to ask, even if granted the chance.

Mordecai continued to believe it was a threat. How could it not be? The two's last encounter was near cataclysmic, and Viktor's opinion couldn't have changed much in the time since. The glasses must be some sort of representation for Mordecai, such as, that was what Viktor was going to do to him. Or a reminder of Viktor's blatant violence in retaliation to Mordecai's actions back on that day. Maybe it was just a distraction, meant to purposely confuse Mordecai, making him ignorant to possible impending danger. Mordecai wasn't even sure that _Viktor _knew the reason why he did it.

Mordecai rubbed the towel into the outside of his arms, working to remove the water from himself. He stopped for a moment to clean off his glasses, which had fogged up from the steam still present in the bathroom. He'd probably end up having to do that a few more times before the steam had dissipated. Annoying.

"So then you're okay with the whole 'gangster' thing? No problems, right?" Rocky asked, leaning his head in his hand.

"Yeah. I wouldn't still be here if I wasn't," Freckle responded, sitting up straight in the nice seats of Mitzi's tenement.

"Even with the whole 'shooting people' issue? Because you're going to be doing more of that, I can almost guarantee it, cousin."

"Yeah, I'll, uh, do it if I need to." Freckle lightly held up the pistol in his grasp, only lifting it a few inches out of his lap before letting his arm drop back down.

"That's good to hear! And I wouldn't want to work beside anyone else more than you, Freckle." Rocky grinned.

"Sure." Freckle paused, staring into the middle distance for a moment. "When's the next time I'm supposed to do something like that?" Freckle focused back in the real world, turning to look at Rocky.

"Do something like what?"

"You know, shoot people and all that." Freckle subtly fidgeted in his seat, giving away to Rocky briefly that Freckle wasn't completely okay with the idea of that. Rocky wouldn't say anything of it now, but he took notice.

"Ah. Well, I don't know. I suppose it's next time Miss M. needs us to."

"Oh, alright."

Mordecai glanced towards the bathroom wall at his side. Now that the water had stopped running and the room was silent, he could hear through the walls and hear the other two's conversation. Granted, it was pretty heavily muffled, and he could only really make out Rocky's words, given how loud he was, but, nonetheless. Mordecai listened in rather curiously.

"So, how are things with you and Ivy?" Rocky changed the subject after that subject had been talked over.

"Good. I guess. We spent a while talking yesterday morning."

"Ah, romance. You and your sweetheart, spending all hours of the day lovingly chatting with each other. How ardent of you, Freckle."

"Uh, yeah, sure." Freckle often just dealt with the things Rocky said, and it was never more true than when Rocky was talking about Freckle and romance, the times when he did.

"It's almost like Romeo and Juliet, you two. Your mother would never approve, yet love keeps you two together. It's poetic. Beautiful. I applaud your inspirational story."

"Sure. I guess it's like that."

The two paused for a minute, both in thought. "So, what's, uh, Mordecai's story?" Freckle wondered, clearing his throat. He still wasn't too sure who Mordecai really was and why they were watching over him.

"Well, he used to work here, not too long ago, really. But, uh, he quit, for whatever reasons. He shot Viktor's knees before he left, which wasn't too popular. And now he works for the Marigolds, which are basically Lackadaisy's main business rival, as it were. So, he's been working against us, and uh, well now he's here." Rocky scratched the back of his head. "Does that explain it?"

"Not really."

"He's done some bad things before. And he robbed us of our guns and tried to destroy the whole business just the other night. That was when he became a, um, prisoner of war."

"'Bad things'? Like what?"

"Uh, well, I don't know everything, but I've heard that he's killed some people, raided some places. He's, well, he's pretty ruthless if rumors are to be believed." Rocky rubbed the back of his neck.

Mordecai's reputation continued to precede him, it would seem. Still, he was seen as ruthless and violent. That wasn't even necessarily false, but it continued to be his defining feature, even among his former employer and their employees. Fine.

"So he's bad? I mean, I've killed some people already."

"Exactly. I don't think he's really a bad person, and neither are you, Freckle. But he's done some bad _things_, you know?"

Well, from Mordecai's perspective, that was rather high praise, especially compared to others' opinion of him. Rocky was almost vouching for him, for whatever reason. That was… neat, would be how Mordecai could describe it.

"Sure." Freckle nodded slightly. He turned to the side and coughed into his hand. Freckle looked back at Rocky. "What's been going on between you two?"

Rocky cocked his head. "What d'ya mean?"

"Well, you were two were being… weirdly friendly to each other yesterday, even though he apparently did bad things. And you didn't even bother asking for permission to have him bathe here today. It's just strange."

"That's not 'strange', Freckle, I'm simply being hospitable; nothing wrong with that."

"So you're this nice to other people like him?" Freckle narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, well, uh, yeah! I'm friendly, cousin— _surely _you've noticed that by now."

"You go into the bathroom with people you're nice to?"

"That's—" Rocky paused, "that's a different situation. That was just to follow what Miss M. said to do."

"But you're not doing that now," Freckle said. Mordecai stopped drying himself with the towel. That's why it all stuck out to him so much; it didn't make sense for Rocky to be doing these things unless he had some sort of alternative motive. It was almost as if he had some sort of… No, Mordecai wouldn't be going down that road. He had had enough of Lackadaisy affairs, and there was no need to have his thoughts be of his captor. He'd had plenty of this sort of thing, and it would seem he was done with it. So he would be, simple as that. Although, it was good to know that he could potentially use such a thing to his advantage in trying to escape. And that was all it could be worth.

"You… That's not, uh… exactly what—" he stumbled through his words, unable to find the right thing to say in response to that.

"It doesn't matter that much. I was just wondering." Freckle turned away for a second, seemingly hiding his face from Rocky. "I just think that if he's done these bad things, you should be careful."

"Ah, well, of course I'll be careful, Freckle. I'm plenty careful." Rocky began smiling, although somewhat falteringly.

"That's a lie."

"It most certainly isn't. I'm careful enough to handle Mordecai's bad things."

Freckle furrowed his brow as he looked at Rocky with a disconcerting glare. "What, uh… No, you're not that careful. You've already managed to let him flirt with you."

Rocky's ears shot up as he noticeably sat up in his seat. "What?"

"It's obvious that's what was happening. I saw the look you had on coming out of that bathroom yesterday."

"That wasn't anything like that, I assure you."

"Sure. Just be careful. I know that you're usually not."

Mordecai carefully folded the towel and put it back where it was as it were before he used it. The only difference was that it was now wetter. He reached over and began donning the clothes that had been prepared by Rocky. They were a surprisingly good fit, seeming nearly as if they were from his own wardrobe. And they looked rather good on Mordecai. The tweed was a tad scratchy, but that was to be expected, really. It was a plenty suitable replacement for his now dirty suit he'd been wearing.

So, from what he'd been hearing through the walls, it seemed Rocky was a bit too awkward and Freckle was a bit too precise in his statements, such that it was clear that Rocky had certain specific feelings regarding Mordecai. That was interesting. Play his cards right, and he might just be able to convince Rocky to simply have him be let go or something of that nature. He had an emotional into Rocky's psyche. Useful.

Mordecai finished dressing himself. He grabbed the broken glasses from the pocket of his dirty suit and relocated them to the pockets of his new outfit. He glanced at himself in the mirror, taking just a moment to look over himself. Indeed, he looked rather nice. Rocky at least had had the logic to pick something of the right size and style for him. Good. Mordecai took the dirty clothes and held them under his arm as he opened the door to the bathroom and exited. He felt refreshed and free from the dirt and germs he'd almost certainly accumulated from the storeroom over the time he'd been there.

He walked over towards the area where the two cousins had said that they would be, which, of course ,was also the same general direction that he'd heard their voices coming from. He noticed the photographs and other decorations of the home as he walked through it. He remembered a lot of it, evidently.

Mordecai walked into the sight of Freckle and Rocky, who both turned to look at him, stopping near dead in their conversation. "...Well?" Mordecai asked in response to their sudden silence and clear staring. It was somewhat unexpected, but given their conversation he'd overheard earlier, that shouldn't have been true.

"Well, you, uh, you look good in that suit." Rocky responded, stumbling through his words slightly. It was clear that he was a bit flustered.

"Not exactly what I'd meant."

Freckle snickered, getting a wayward glance from Rocky, who surely was blushing now. Having his emotional situation laid out before him by his cousin had nearly undone him. "Well," Rocky cleared his throat, "shall we be making our way back downstairs?"

"I don't see why not."

"Alright then." Rocky quickly made his way past Mordecai and began leading the other two towards the exit and out through it. He seemed a little hurried for whatever reason.

Mordecai obliged as Freckle prodded him with the barrel of the pistol. "Oh, and thank you for the shower; it was well appreciated."

"Oh! Uh, well, no problem! It was the least I could do." He walked with a strange sort of posture.

Mordecai felt the barrel of the pistol prod him in the back again and he looked over his shoulder towards Freckle. "Yes?" Mordecai muttered.

"I know what you're trying to do. Be careful," Freckle warned.

"Of course." Mordecai turned back, beginning down the stairs. He most likely wouldn't be following the little one's advice.

Mordecai was led back through the garage, which was free of bystanders now, and down into the storeroom. He was locked back in and Freckle departed, making himself busy in the café with Ivy. Mordecai set his clothes neatly on the floor, being careful so as to avoid puddles of particularly dirty spots. And Rocky remained, conversing with Mordecai. And to him, it was entirely obvious and certain now that what he'd thought was true. Rocky had developed feelings for Mordecai, however subtle or overt they might be. And that could be an amazingly useful tool to him.


	12. Businessman

Wick sat at his desk, busy filling out paperwork that he hadn't finished the day prior. That was partly due to the alcohol, partly due to the long conversation he'd had with Mitzi when he was supposed to be busying himself with his work. Speaking of which, he glanced toward the window, seeing a car pull up into the driveway. He looked at the clock; she was a tad earlier than he'd expected, but that was okay. At least he was dressed and more or less ready. He stood up and began towards the front door.

Mitzi exited the car and climbed up the few steps on the way to Wick's house. As she neared the top step, the door was pulled open by Wick. He leaned against the doorway slightly. "A bit early, aren't you?"

"A bit. That's not a problem is it?" Mitzi wondered, stopping on the top step, in front of the doorway.

"No, not at all." Wick stepped aside. "Come on in for a moment."

"Oh, thank you." Mitzi slipped past Wick into the foyer. He shut the door with a shove as he stepped away from it.

"How are you, Mitzi?"

"Alright. You?"

"Doing fine, doing fine."

"Good."

"...Well," Wick cleared his throat, "judging from your phone call yesterday, you didn't ask for us to meet up just to catch up, right? You want to talk business. Am I correct in assuming that?"

Mitzi sighed. "Is it that obvious?"

"'Fraid so."

"Well, yes, it's business that I wanna talk about. I was hoping you'd humor me."

"Sure, why not?" Wick glanced to the side. "How about a drive around in the roadster while we discuss? You know, get out in the sun, get out of the house?"

Mitzi pondered it for a moment. "...Yeah, that'd be nice, Wick."

"Alright then, give me a moment and I'll pull it around— you can wait here," Wick smiled as he began towards the door again.

"Go ahead." Wick left the building and closed the door behind him. Mitzi distracted herself with various decorations around the foyer.

Mitzi had arranged for this meeting with Sedgewick on the phone yesterday; it was just one of the many things she'd been doing on the telephone yesterday. She'd been rather vague in her motives for doing so, but it was for almost entirely business reasons— Mitzi would need a little bit of investment, especially in her current financial situation, to deal with the predicament Mordecai and his lackeys had caused. But, Mitzi had a plan, both for convincing Wick to make that investment and for using it to fix everything. Surely, Wick could be suaded by Mitzi.

A minute or two had passed by when Mitzi could hear the car make its way to the front of the house. She looked towards the front doors once Wick opened them, taking a step inside. Standing in the threshold, he said, "Well then, are you ready?"

"Of course." Mitzi walked towards the door, turning and smiling at Wick as she passed him, which Wick reciprocated. As Mitzi began down the stairs, he began too, closing the door as he did. Wick opened the passenger side door for Mitzi before getting into the driver's seat. He then started driving off of the property, onto the road.

"So," Wick began, "you want to talk business?" He drove gingerly down the road, the speed being kept rather low.

"I do." Mitzi cleared her throat. "Some… rivals of ours happened to break into our establishment the night before last."

"Oh dear."

"Yeah. They ruined some of the furniture, the lights, shot some of the drinks we still had left. It normally wouldn't be that big of a deal, if it weren't for our empty coffers right now." The car slowed as it rounded a near corner

"I don't quite want to get involved with your line of business— it sounds awful dangerous, even if—"

"No, honey, I don't need you to get involved. I just need a small investment on your behalf."

Wick hesitated, glancing towards Mitzi for a brief moment. "Eh, I don't know about that, Mitzi; I'm still a businessman, and that businessman part of me isn't so sure you can make a return on such an investment."

"Just a small one, Wick. Besides, we recently brought on a new employee who I'm sure is goin' to pull us up by the bootstraps." Just a little white lie. Not that she didn't believe Freckle had lots of potential, but she needed to exaggerate his potential in order to truly sell it to Wick.

"That just sounds like an additional expense."

"He's already proven himself to us— he dealt with the issue we had last time you visited us at the speakeasy."

"Impressive, I, uh, guess. But that wasn't _particularly _dealt with, I must say; you had one with some sort of horrible injury and you had to evacuate all of your guests."

"Just trust me. He's got some potential."

"Erm, I don't know. I don't think that's enough for me to jump on. I certainly wouldn't want you to fail here, but I'm not sure that you can—"

Mitzi spoke. "We have a hostage from the guys who broke the night before last."

"What?" Wick turned to face Mitzi, shocked. He swerved a tiny bit. "You have a _hostage?_"

"A rival, yes. He's a pretty important part of their business, and we've got him as collateral. With him, we can really make an impact in this war we've been fighting."

"Dear god, Mitzi. Things are much more, um, high stakes over there than I thought." The car went down a bit of a hill, picking up some speed as it did.

"More high stakes than rocks, I suppose. But we have a good chance of making bank. All we need is a bit of investment from you, Wick."

Wick sighed, considering Mitzi's proposal as he continued to drive the car. "What might I get out of this, investing in your dangerous, dangerous business?"

"I've been working it out, and I can give you back double what you invest in, at most, a quarter of a year."

"Double, huh? I've got to say, Mitzi, that's certainly an enticing promise you make. It's a lot to earn from such an investment. But double's also a lot for you to _pay, _Mitzi. It seems like that's just me _asking_ for you to break your promise here."

"Believe me. It seems like a lot—"

"Because it is."

"—but if things go as planned, it'll be easy to pay it back, even at double."

"And if things don't go as planned?"

"Well, I suppose that we might not be able to, but that's true with any investment."

"You're not wrong, you're not wrong." The car was silent for a moment with the only sound being the nature around them. The wind picked up and rustled through the trees as they drove. "So all you need is just an investment of money? I don't need to deal with any of your… hostage, uh, warfare, do I?"

"Of course not."

"Well," Wick cleared his throat, "I suppose we can discuss exact numbers once we've made it back home, but I can lend you the money you need, Mitzi."

Mitzi smiled. "Oh, that's great to hear, Wick. I really appreciate it."

"Yes, of course." Mitzi's smile was infectious, Wick discovered as his concentrated, deep-in-thought countenance morphed into a grinning one even as he had no idea why.

The two spent the rest of the leisured drive continuing to converse, although now the topic of business had slipped away, and now the two were simply friends, not just business partners or anything of that like. They revelled in the gentle breeze and the moderate temperature of a new spring. It had been plenty of time since the last time they were both able to enjoy such a simple pleasure without issue.

Mitzi waved goodbye to Wick at the end of their get-together. Mitzi had a check signed by the magnate, which she was sure to cash in as soon as she could; it was her ticket to renewed success. Or, at least, she hoped it was. Mitzi sat herself down in the driver's seat of the car she'd driven here in, the windows still shot up from the first raid they'd had. That would be one of the things she'd have to fix with the new injection of funds, if she could manage it.

Mitzi had made her way back towards the café, only, at most, a block away from the garage where she'd park the car. But as she neared the café, she slowed as she passed a suspicious car parked on the opposite side of the street from the restaurant. Mitzi swore it was the same car she'd seen drive away the night Mordecai came. She tried not to stare too heavily, but she felt sure that sitting inside were familiar figures. In her peripheral vision, she could tell that they didn't share the same carefulness Mitzi did; they blatantly stared at Mitzi. That wasn't particularly comforting.

Mitzi had parked the car in the garage and made her way downstairs into the speakeasy, hoping to catch Rocky or Freckle and ask how things had been with that hostage which she'd boasted to Wick about. It wasn't long before she did. Rocky was sat on a crate by the door to the storeroom, and had been conversing with Mordecai, although he trailed off as he noticed Mitzi.

"Hello, Rocky," Mitzi greeted, raising her voice so as to be heard from the distance she was at, which was being made smaller as Mitzi continued to walk closer.

"Oh, hi, Miss M.," Rocky smiled.

"How have things been while I was gone?" It had probably been three hours since she'd left. It wasn't particularly long, but Rocky certainly could have messed things up in that time period.

"Things have been good."

"Mordecai hasn't tried anything funny?"

"Funny? I don't think so. Define 'funny.'"

"I'll answer for you, Mitzi." Mordecai said from inside the storeroom, "No, I haven't done anything 'funny.'"

"Yeah, exactly," Rocky agreed. "There's nothing funny about him."

"Alright then." Mitzi seemed to remain a tad skeptical still, but wouldn't press it any further, "How have things been in the café. Have you been in?"

"Briefly. Things are good— Ivy and Freckle are busy up there right now." Rocky paused. "Well, not _busy, _cause that, uh, isn't exactly what I meant. I mean, they are busy, but just not—"

"Speaking of Freckle," Mitzi interrupted Rocky's ramblings, "do you think you and him would be up for some, well, some overtime?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I have a sneaking suspicion that, uh," Mitzi leaned in some. Rocky quickly recognized what Mitzi was trying to do and leaned in, too. "The Marigolds are gonna try something again soon," Mitzi whispered

"Well, what do you want us to do about that?" Rocky asked, not whispering.

This was annoying to Mordecai, who began to assume a lot of things from what Mitzi said before beginning to whisper. He wanted to hear what was happening, but of course, that was exactly what Mitzi _didn't _want.

"You two stay here for the night, make sure no one tries to raid us, and have your cousin shoot up anyone who does."

"The whole night?" Rocky asked, half-whispering now.

"I'll pay you two extra for it."

"But I didn't think that we had much money left. Just the other day, you—"

"I had a meeting with Wick today. We worked something out."

"Well," Rocky pondered. Some extra money would be good and all, but did he really want to spend the whole night guarding the building?

"Ahem," Mordecai cleared his throat. He was trying to get someone to tell him what was going on, despite knowing it probably wouldn't happen.

If Rocky stayed, he could talk to Mordecai some. That was— was Rocky really going to stay just to talk to Mordecai? Was he so desperate?

"Rocky?" Mitzi said, looking for an answer.

Sure, why not? He could be desperate. Only god, and apparently Freckle, could judge him for it. "I can do it, but I'll have to talk to Freckle about it and see about him."

"Good. Thanks, Rocky." Mitzi stood up straight again. "Alright then, keep guarding Mordecai, honey— I've got to go attend to things."

"See ya, Miss M.," Rocky shouted at Mitzi as she began down the passageway.

"What was that about?" Mordecai asked.

"Nothing much. Don't worry about it."


	13. Nightfall

**A/N: Sorry for not uploading this chapter sooner. I finished it more than a week ago but forgot to upload it here after uploading it on Ao3. I'm not on hiatus or anything, I'm just stupid.**

* * *

The sun had set a few hours ago now. The café was long closed, and almost everyone had filed out of the building. However, Freckle, Rocky, and Mordecai remained in the basement. Freckle, having been talked into staying and protecting the business overnight, had spent the time sitting in the garage, guarding its entrance. He'd asked that Rocky go sit in the café and guard that entrance, but Rocky had spent most, if not all, of the time sitting and talking to Mordecai. The two of which had been getting along rather well. Mordecai, of course, was still keeping his collected attitude as he worked towards an escape, however, even as Rocky continued.

It was starting to rain, Freckle noted, as he sat in the garage. Despite being mostly clear earlier in the day, clouds had quickly rolled in as dusk approached, and now it was rather stormy out. Freckle could hear the rain strike the building, the roof, the walls— the garage door especially. It was a sound Freckle particularly enjoyed. He often found it easier to sleep at night when he could hear the rain, even.

"And so we let the fire burn. It was that simple," Mordecai said.

"Huh," Rocky replied, "that's… interesting. What did you say that was for?"

"Business."

"Oh, of course." Rocky had been listening rather intently as Mordecai told a story from before he quit. "Did they survive?"

"Well, I don't quite remember what came of it," Mordecai lied.

"Oh, alright." The two were silent for a moment, both with nothing more to say on the topic. "Do you think anyone's _actually _gonna try and break in tonight? I mean, you work with the Marigolds, what do you think about it?"

Ah, yes, the Marigolds: Mordecai's sole qualification, it would seem. "Perhaps. It's been tried once— there's no reason why it wouldn't be tried again."

"Okay, but _tonight. _Do you think they'll try something _tonight?_"

"Not with you and your cousin so bravely defending your business," Mordecai spoke dryly.

"Bravely de— you really think that?"

"Of course," Mordecai continued with a blend of dry sarcasm and sly manipulation; he could easily tell that that was an opportunity to use Rocky. Besides, it wasn't like throwing a compliment his way was hurting anyone, even if Mordecai didn't exactly believe it.

"Thanks," Rocky beamed.

"Following with that, if I may, how did you even end up guarding this place this late? Is there really not anyone else who could do that other than one of the band members?"

"Oh, well, you see—" Rocky began.

Freckle was sat in the garage still. He'd set the pistol down on a crate nearby, and was resting his head in his hand. While it wasn't particularly late, Freckle was somewhat tired, and sitting around doing nothing in particular wasn't really helping keep him awake. He fought to keep his eyes open. Only shortly later, however, his thoughts relapsed, and he let himself close his eyes. It was only a short time before he was sure to—

Freckle's eyes shot open. He'd heard something. He stood up, feeling acutely that his legs had been in the same position for some time; perhaps he'd been asleep for a while. Freckle didn't know. He stretched as he bent over to grab his gun, quickly feeling that his foot had fallen asleep. Freckle suddenly heard another noise from over by the garage doors; something like a clanking noise. He readied himself and then, as stealthily as the half-limping, inexperienced Freckle could, he rushed over towards the door by the garage doors.

He stood to the side, before glancing out of the window in the door out into the darkened outside landscape. He didn't see anything much in the dark, but it didn't look like there was anything out there. However, just when Freckle was about to pull away from the glass, he caught a glimpse of someone quickly hooking around the corner and out of sight. That was disconcerting. He'd have to make sure that Rocky was keeping an eye on the other entrance.

"Yet that's wholly unlikely," Mordecai said.

"'Wholly unlikely'? It happened nearly ten times," Rocky replied.

"_Ten times? _How could you have accomplished that _ten times?_" They were talking about Rocky's past endeavors again.

"It just kinda happened, you know?"

"I most certainly don't."

"Regardless, we traveled around to—"

"Rocky?" Freckle asked.

"Oh hey, Freckle."

"What are you doing over here?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were supposed to be watching the café."

"Apologies."

"Well, would you go watch the garage then?"

"Why?"

"I just saw someone wandering around outside. They went around the corner and are probably heading towards the front."

"Who?" Mordecai wondered.

"Are you sure it wasn't just, maybe, someone having a midnight walk?" Rocky proposed.

"No, that's not it," Freckle continued.

"Perhaps a classic case of—"

"You need to go watch the garage while I make sure no one tries to break in."

Rocky patted his pockets "I don't have anything to stop a potential intruder with."

"Just go watch for anyone; I can stop them."

"Is he supposed to simply run back to you when an intruder gives chase?" Mordecai piped in.

"I guess," Freckle answered.

"That doesn't seem particularly smart."

"There's not a better way to do it. There isn't a gun to give you, Rocky, and even if there was, you couldn't be trusted with it."

"I can use a gun as well as you can, Freckle," Rocky retorted.

"You can't."

"Of course I can. Here, let me show you." He reached out to grab the gun out of Freckle's hands.

"No!" He pulled it back. "Please just go watch for people."

"Oh alright then." He began down the hall. "I'll let you know if something happens." Freckle turned away from Rocky and began walking down the hall towards the opposite entrance.

Freckle made his way through the establishment and up the stairs to the café. He crouched down in the corner, trying his best to hide himself from the windows. From where he was sitting, at least, it looked as if he was hidden rather well. He had his gun available, ready to spring out if someone tried to enter. This was all terribly exciting, really.

Rocky was sitting in the garage. He was leaning forward some, almost hunched over, resting his head in his hand, with his arm propped up on his lower thigh, his elbow digging rather uncomfortably into his leg. Nothing interesting or important was happening here. Probably, nothing _would _happen. It was probably just that Freckle wanted him to stop talking to Mordecai. Apparently he knows best, regarding Rocky's personal life. Ugh.

He leaned back, a bit too far to be comfortable; his neck bent at a severe angle and his back was almost perpendicular to the wall. He sat there, the uncomfortable position quickly becoming a bit painful. He was about to sit up when he heard someone quietly talking outside. His ears perked up, and he sat still. Listening carefully, he slowly sat up, trying to keep from making any sound. The voices were coming closer. Rocky was now sat up straight, and was staring out of the window in the door, looking to see who was out there. He stood up carefully and tiptoed over to the door. He leaned over towards the window and looked around, his eyes scanning from on side to the to the other. Rocky then saw someone begin coming around the corner, and quickly pulled back, standing aside so as to keep from being seen.

"Kick the door down?" someone muttered outside. Rocky shuddered. Oh, no. Freckle was right; there _were _people outside, and they were trying to break in. Welp. Rocky ducked down and made his way over to the trapdoor. He began to lift it up. The hinge made a loud squeaking sort of sound, and Rocky cringed.

"Oh, dere you are!" the same person outside exclaimed, their face up near the window.

Rocky slammed the trapdoor open and rushed down the stairs into the underground tunnels. The trapdoor slammed closed as Rocky began down the hallway. He nearly slipped in a small puddle of water, but steadied himself and continued.

"Freckle! Freckle! Get over here!" Rocky screamed down the tunnel. He heard the echoes of it in between breaths as he ran.

There was no response from Freckle. At least, not one that Rocky could detect. Oh, right— he was probably up in the café. Rocky just hoped that he could get over there and retrieve him before the intruders did anything.


	14. Intruder

Freckle was ready to pounce. He swore that he heard someone, and it wouldn't be long before they showed themselves. His pupils had contracted and his ears were perked. The muffled whisper of a voice was clearly getting closer. It would just be a moment more before—

"Freckle!" Rocky shouted, bursting out from behind the hidden door in the café.

Freckle screamed, and turned around, quickly shooting in the general direction of the scream.

"Whoa! Stop, it's just me!" Rocky yelped, flinching as the bullet whizzed past him and landed in a loaf of bread on the shelf behind him.

"Oh, I… sorry about that." Freckle sighed, "What is it?" He put the gun down, holding it at his side now. He briefly checked the magazine of the gun and his pupils dilated some as he relaxed.

"What's what?" Rocky wondered, trying to look where Freckle was looking, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"Why did you come here screaming my name?"

"Oh! Someone's breaking into the garage!"

Freckle looked up from the gun. "Oh." He began towards the door Rocky had come from. "Come on." He turned back and gestured for Rocky to go with him. Rocky obliged, quickly shutting the door behind him as the two hastily descended the stairs, Freckle leading the way.

"How many were there?" Freckle asked as the two moved.

"I don't know. At least one."

"Did you recognize anyone?"

"I don't think so." They were rushing through the establishment now.

"Did they see you?" Freckle continued.

"Definitely."

"What did they do?"

"Uh, kick the door in."

They rounded a corner and weren't far from the stairs that lead up to the garage. As they neared the straightaway, where the stairs could be seen at the end, they heard a voice, and slowed to a stop behind a corner.

"Is that them?" Freckle whispered.

Rocky listened intently for a second. "Mordecai? Peekon? You alive?"

"Yeah, that's them," Rocky answered quietly. Why was this guy looking for Mordecai? If he was sent to find Mordecai, was he a Marigold?

"Can you get a look at him? Where is he, what's he look like? Should I shoot at him?"

Rocky, as stealthily as he could, peeked slightly around the corner at the intruder. He was about halfway down the hall and walking rather slowly. He had a Tommy, and looked pretty formidable; sturdy, Rocky might say. Trying to tackle him and wrestle away the weapon, or anything like that, clearly wasn't the best course of action here.

"About halfway down, pretty brawny-looking, I don't know if you should shoot at him."

"Has he got a gun?"

"Yeah, bigger than your pistol," Rocky muttered, gesturing to the gun in Freckle's hands, "although I suppose size isn't everything."

"...So I shouldn't shoot at him?"

"Probably not."

"Well then, what should we do, Rocky? We can't let him do whatever he wants," Freckle urged as the footsteps of the intruder neared.

"I don't know— shoot him, I guess!" Rocky whispered.

"Be prepared to run." Freckle leaned around the corner hurriedly and began shooting, quickly finding and aiming at his target.

"Oh, dere we are," the intruder smiled as Freckle missed. He stood with his legs apart some and began to shoot back.

Freckle got in one more shot before quickly rounding and clumsily grabbing Rocky by the wrist. "That didn't work," Freckle stated, running.

"Well now what?" Rocky asked, following behind Freckle as they sprinted away.

"Uh, get to another spot and try again."

"That doesn't sound good."

"Ah, don' be tryin' to run now," the intruder shouted from down the hall, a torrent of bullets following the remark.

The two stopped around another corner. Freckle leaned around it and tried to shoot at the intruder. The first shot missed by a considerable distance. The second just nicked him in the side of his lower left leg, only grazing him slightly. "Gettin' closer," the intruder smirked.

"This isn't gonna work— I'm almost flat out of rounds," Freckle said, quickly taking a glance at the magazine again.

"Are there more somewhere?" Rocky asked.

"Yeah, but," Freckle put his face in his palm, "I left them upstairs."

"I can go get them, if you can keep from being shot. I'll bring them to you, you shoot this guy apart, then we can—"  
"Gotcha," the intruder sniggered.

The two boys quickly jumped up and farther down the hall. Rocky's ear got hit by one of the bullets. Rocky winced, but continued running. Of course, it was just his luck; it was the ear that _hadn't _been shot.

Rocky, still running, between breaths, began, "So should I get the—"

"Yes! Hurry!" Freckle shouted.

"Alright then, bossy." Rocky accelerated his pace and made way for the stairs.

Mordecai was sitting in the dark in the storeroom. Now that Rocky was gone, he could sleep. Now, Rocky wasn't exactly a nuisance, per se, but Mordecai wasn't exactly trying to see how far into the night he could stay up. So now, Mordecai laid on the floor, his eyes closed, working to fall asleep. That was when he heard the gunshots.

There was an alarming amount of gunshots. It sounded like a submachine gun. Was someone robbing them again? Or, Mordecai's mind wondered, was it the Savoys _finally _coming back to retrieve him. Well, Mordecai sat upright, listening carefully to the gunshots as he thought about it. Perhaps he would be saved tonight. That would be well appreciated; no more pandering to try and con his way out.

Rocky returned from the café, and had a couple of magazines. Hopefully that would be enough to keep from dying. As he descended the stairs, he reached up and touched his shot ear. He winced and pulled his hand back. It wasn't bleeding terribly, but damn it, it hurt more than the last time. Of course it had to go through the thicker part of the ear, in the back. And that wouldn't look weird as all get out.

Rocky ran back to Freckle, who now hunkered down behind a stack of crates. They didn't seem to be full of alcohol, as they were taking the bullets shot at them, and there was no leaking. "Here, take these," Rocky demanded quickly, unloading all of the magazines.

"Thanks," Freckle nodded, taking one of them and loading into the pistol. He looked around the crates and shot at the intruder, who was mostly behind a corner in the hall. He pulled back as he saw Freckle lean around the corner, and the shot missed.

"Do you think… that you can try to, um, attack him?"

"Me? I don't even have anything to try and attack him with! Besides, have you _seen _him? If I punched him, I think I'd break my fist before I broke him!"

"Oh, thank you, cajoler," the intruder shouted.

"Try to stab him or knee him in the crotch, I don't know, but I'm not gonna be able to do anything without some sort of help," Freckle implored.

"But— Oh, you're right, aren't you? Damn it. Try to get him out in the open, I'll be right back." Rocky ran back down the tunnel, back towards the establishment.

Rocky ran as quickly as he could back into the establishment, and searched around hastily. Eventually, he found it; on the floor lay a slightly broken, but mostly intact glass bottle. He grabbed it and ran back to Freckle.

Rocky hid back behind the crates with his cousin. "What was that for?" Freckle asked.

"Got this," Rocky said, holding up the bottle for Freckle to see.

"And…?"

"Gonna smash it over him."

"Oh, okay. You ready?"

Rocky took a couple deep breaths. "Don't let me die, if you can help it."

"Alright." Freckle jumped out from behind the stack of crates and stood out in the open for a moment, getting the intruder's attention. He jumped out, in turn, from behind the corner, and began to shoot. Freckle moved back, avoiding, quite luckily, getting shot. The intruder took a few steps forward. Freckle moved almost erratically taking advantage of the bad accuracy of the intruder's gun as he continued to move backward. Despite his success so far, Rocky still hadn't actually done anything, and Freckle was starting to wonder if Rocky's "plan" was some sort of trick to get Freckle killed.

As the intruder took another step forward, Rocky sprung into action. Rocky pushed the crates over. They slammed into the intruder, who blocked the attack with his arm, but stumbled nonetheless. Rocky jumped out, brandishing the bottle. As he ran behind him, he smashed the bottle against the intruder's head, spreading glass everywhere. The intruder recoiled. Rocky was now behind them. Rocky took the remains of the bottle and stabbed into the back of the intruder. They grimaced, but still spun around and punched Rocky in the chest. Rocky couldn't withstand the swing, and fell onto the floor. Freckle sprung back out of cover and shot, hitting the intruder in the calf with a bullet. The intruder stumbled. He looked over his shoulder. Wincing from the pain, he dashed away, limping slightly.

Freckle dropped to his knees at Rocky's side. Rocky was groaning and wincing. "You alright? You okay?" Freckle asked.

"I'm—" Rocky inhaled, "fine."

"What happened?"

"Got punched."

"Did you get shot?" Freckle examined Rocky for any bullet wounds and the ground for any suddenly growing puddles of blood.

"No." Rocky curled into a ball.

Freckle stood up and rushed to the corner. Looking around it, he saw no one. He continued farther down the hall, looking to find the guy. Freckle had to at least make sure that he left the building and didn't come back.

He ran down the entire length of the hall, and looked in the garage, but he was gone. There was a trail of blood that led out of the garage. The door was broken, even more so now, and was almost broken off from the hinges. There was even a huge crack in the center of it. Freckle searched around the garage for someone else hiding, but didn't find anyone. He glanced around outside, where he'd seen and where he'd heard the intruder, but saw no one; the blood trail led directly away from the building. Freckle was safe— probably. At least for now, that was. Freckle was gonna go watch the café entrance.

Rocky stood up, his chest pain and inability to breathe mostly gone now. His arm still hurt some— he'd landed on it when he fell. He cleared his throat, holding his arm, waiting for the pain to subside, and glanced around the corner, looking for Freckle. Lo and behold, there he was, quickly walking back from the garage. "What happened?" Rocky questioned, Freckle coming up to and passing Rocky. Rocky began walking, coming up alongside Freckle.

"He's gone. I'm just gonna make sure they don't try again at the front."

"You don't think he _would, _do you?"

"Probably not. But he seemed cocky."

"I'd have to agree with you, cousin."

Freckle glanced at Rocky, still holding his arm as he walked. "What happened there?" Freckle gestured to Rocky's arm.

"Oh. I fell on it."

"You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. It's the ear that isn't." He pointed to it, letting go of his arm for a moment.

Freckle looked up at his ears, taking a moment before spotting the recent wound. "What happened there?"

"Got shot."

"Do you… need something for that?"

"Maybe." The two ascended the stairs to the café. The stairs creaked with their steps.

They opened the door and were back in the café. Freckle looked out the window, searching for the intruder. As he did, he saw a car parked across the street roar to life and drive away. Looking at it as it drove away, he saw the intruder in the passenger seat. Of course.

"Alright, I think we're good now." Freckle stated, "I think that was them leaving."

"Oh, good." Rocky stood there for a moment, smiling slightly, "I guess we should go clean up the blood and spend rounds. Don't _want _it looking like a crime scene."

"Well, should we go tell Mitzi about what happened?"

Rocky pondered it for a minute. "Eh, probably not— we should just let her sleep. Besides, it's not like waking her up would do anything useful." Rocky leaned over and grabbed some various cleaning supplies before beginning back down the stairs. "Come on." Freckle obliged and followed Rocky down the stairs, closing the door behind him as he descended.

As they continued towards where the shootout had happened, they passed by the storeroom. "Who's out there?" Mordecai asked from inside of it.

"Oh, Mordecai! Hey," Rocky responded.

"What happened?"

"Someone broke in."

"Who? What did they look like?"

"Why?" Rocky snickered, "Were you expecting someone?"

"No, it's not— No, I wasn't."

"Oh, okay," Rocky smiled. Freckle gave Rocky a judgemental look.

"What happened?"

"Someone broke in, shot at us, we shot at them. You know— the usual."

"What did they look like?"

"Well if you _really _care so much, it was a brawny-looking guy. Wore some sort of ascot or something. Something like a vest, too."

"What did he sound like?"

"He had a thick sort of accent of some kind."

Mordecai hummed in understanding. "What happened to him?"

"He drove off, Mordecai," Freckle interjected.

"Yeah, so you don't have to worry about that guy," Rocky said.

"Oh, well, wonderful," Mordecai replied, subtly sounding dejected.

"Means more talking to me, buddy." Rocky winced as he accidentally brushed his ear up against the wall as he tried leaning against it. "Oh, and by the way, I got shot in the ear. What should I do about that?"

"Well, I suppose you should put some alcohol on it. If you have any."

"You're not the only breadwinner, Mordecai; I'm plenty capable, too."

"Fantastic. Clean out your wounds, then."

"I will, _sweetheart_," Rocky replied with a sort of facetious tone, yet still in a pleasant, friendly sort of way.

"You just— I'm not— that's—" Mordecai stammered.

"Okay, well, I'm gonna go clean up the mess we made. You two can just keep doing whatever it is you're doing." Freckle walked away, grabbing some of the cleaning supplies off of Rocky, who was now a tad flustered himself. That was interesting, what Rocky had just done.


	15. Overmorrow

"And that was the last time anyone heard from her."

"So they killed her."

"Nah, she hopped a train and went west." Rocky and Mordecai were sat downstairs in the speakeasy. Several days had passed since the break-in, and some things had changed.

Mitzi had fixed many things that had to be fixed. The door in the garage, as well as the shot furniture in the establishment, had been replaced. Some of that new furniture, namely a small leather couch, was seating Rocky, who was rather comfortably strewn about it. His ear had been patched up and treated appropriately. On the other hand, his arm, luckily, had only been bruised. Mordecai was sat at the counter on a sort of stool which he'd swiveled so that he faced Rocky. The two had been conversing for about an hour now.

"You said that she had disputes with a sort of gang in town?" Mordecai said.

"Yeah," Rocky responded.

"Then surely they killed her— especially if no one's heard from her."

"She got out of town before that could happen."

"It's possible, I suppose. Unlikely, one might say, but possible."

The business had reopened after a short hiatus that had ended the previous night. They served both the alcohol that Freckle and Zib had unloaded before Mordecai's break-in, as well as the alcohol procured from Defiance, which Rocky and Freckle had retrieved without a hitch. As such, business was good. It was almost better than before, in fact.

"Oh, I wouldn't be able to say; she travelled out west somewhere, and then_ I_ travelled around— I doubt we'd even be able to get in touch with each other."

"Well, would you want to? Were you two close?"

"Well, I mean, not— no, she was a pretty good friend, so I, uh, if we were able to. If, _I, _were able to, then yeah, I, um, I would. To catch up. As friends."

"That's good."

Rocky and Mordecai had gotten closer in a sense. The pair might even be considered friends, as long as one ignored the hostage part of the equation. In fact, they even had an inside joke or two, even if Rocky was the only one who laughed at them. Talking to each other for hours each day did wonders for breaking the ice. Or, probably more accurately, breaking a proverbial glacier between them. At least one of the parties was held against their will, after all, and it would take a lot of friendly bonding to get a hostage to simply forget or move past that.

So, Rocky had essentially become Mordecai's sole caretaker. While Mitzi still didn't, and probably wouldn't, trust Mordecai, she _did _trust Rocky, or, at least mostly. So, he was the one who made sure that Mordecai didn't, for example, die, while in their care. Mitzi was still negotiating with the Marigolds, after all. So Rocky was the one who made sure Mordecai's needs were met while he was kept hostage. And while not a need, Rocky would often let Mordecai hang around outside of the storeroom. After all, as long as Rocky watched over him, he could get out from that cramped room for a little bit. Indeed, that was what was happening as Rocky and Mordecai conversed.

"Yeah, I mean, it'd be interesting to get back in touch, see what's happened and all that."

"I rarely have old acquaintances to get back in touch with, but I might have to dis—"

"Oh, Rocky, I—" Mitzi began, entering the room from a tunnel leading to the garage, "What're you doing here, Mordecai?" Mitzi stopped and judged Mordecai with a stern face.

"Hello, Mitzi. You kidnapped me, remember?" Mordecai retorted.

"You know what I mean."

"I brought him out here," Rocky replied to Mitzi.

"Why?" Mitzi asked.

"He's spent a while in the storeroom, so I let him hang around out here while I make sure that, uh," Mitzi raised an eyebrow, "he doesn't run away or anything like that."

"...Let's have ourselves a little chat for a moment." Mitzi led Rocky out of earshot and then looked over her shoulder, shouting slightly, "Don't think about running now, Mordecai; I'll shoot you if you try anything."

"Got it," Mordecai replied.

Mitzi turned back and whispered to Rocky. "What's going on here?"

"What do you mean?" Rocky wondered.

"With Mordecai. He broke in, remember? Why're you tryin' to make sure he's not cramped or whatever?"

"Well, he's not _all_ bad, Miss M., you know? We're trying to survive, he's trying to survive— we're not… all that, uh… different..." Rocky trailed off as Mitzi stared at him, brow furrowing.

"I see what's going on here."

"What?"

"Mordecai's playin' you like a damn fiddle."

"Huh? That's not—"

"He's manipulatin' you, Rocky. He's tricked you into feeling for him. You've got feelings for him."

"What? That's not true. I don't have feelings for him."

"Really now?"

"Besides, it's not like he's tricked me. My— If I developed feelings for him, it wouldn't be because he tricked me; that doesn't seem right."

"Uh huh," Mitzi judged.

"If there were any feelings they would be completely natural. But there aren't any."

"We both know that you're lyin', right?"

"No, I'm not—"

"Okay, well for everyone's sakes, I think you should put Mordecai back in the storeroom for now. Besides, I need you to do some of the work Zib's supposed to be doin' around here."

Rocky cocked his head, quickly forgetting about his argument moments before. "What's going on with Zib?"

Mitzi sighed, "He hasn't showed up the past couple of days."

"Is he okay?"

"Probably. I think he's just taking some time off— he said he might— but he also said he'd let me know if he did. He probably just forgot about that, but I guess I need to send Ivy, maybe, to go check up on him today if he doesn't show." Mitzi glanced over at Mordecai, who seemed to be closely inspecting his tie, for whatever reason. "But for now, I need you to do some of the stuff he's supposed to be doin' right now."

"Oh, well, alright."

"So I'd really appreciate if you could put Mordecai back in the storeroom and help out in the garage."

"Okay," Rocky nodded. The two made their way back towards Mordecai. Rocky then brought Mordecai back to the storeroom, although the two talked for a bit, delaying the door being closed and locked. Mitzi quietly hurried Rocky along and made her way to the garage.

Rocky truly had developed feelings for Mordecai, if he hadn't already made it obvious enough to everyone in a square mile. But it would seem that he was really the only one who supported that; Freckle seemed almost critical of it, and Mitzi believed that it was just some trick Mordecai was pulling. And who knows what his other acquaintances would think of that. So Rocky was a little hesitant to act upon that. Besides, Mordecai probably wouldn't even reciprocate anything like that— as far as Rocky knew, Mordecai was nearly incapable of romance and love. But that was fine; Rocky would deal with that. He was still interesting and more or less fun to hang out with. Rocky would just have to… not have feelings for Mordecai. He could manage that. That was easy enough.

Mordecai still wanted to escape. And it looked as if perhaps he even had a way _to _escape— Rocky. The boy was clearly, for better or for worse, infatuated with Mordecai for whatever reasons, and Mordecai was nearly sure that, if he wanted to, he could direct Rocky to let him free. And he probably would do it. However, Mordecai would be lying if he said he was completely focused on escape; he'd realized that he enjoyed the brief escape from work. He didn't have to deal with Asa or the jobs that he would be assigned. Instead, he basically had a free vacation. And there was what Mordecai really feared; Mordecai somewhat felt for Rocky, too.

He'd been trying to stay vigilant and keep such a travesty from developing, but it had happened. Rocky was fun. He had, somehow, just as many stories from his past to tell as Mordecai did. He was always energetic and bubbling, even if that sometimes bothered Mordecai. And absolutely worst of all, it took him back to what he felt with Viktor before everything that happened. So, even if he was mortified by the realization, Mordecai really _didn't _want to leave. He was a hostage, yet he was almost enjoying it somehow. So Mordecai debated relaying his feelings to Rocky.

After the conversation he'd heard Freckle and Rocky have after Mordecai's shower upstairs the other day, he was almost sure that Rocky would reciprocate such emotions, but Mordecai was struggling with the thought of it; Rocky was good, sure, but would the feeling hold true with time? Would it fade? What would happen when Mordecai inevitably went back to working with Asa? Such a cross-business relationship would surely result only in hardships for both of them, maybe even death, given the extreme nature of the trade. And what about Viktor?

Mordecai's emotions regarding Viktor were complex and hard for even him to understand. He was upset at Viktor for not listening to him, but he was also still disheartened by the simply brutal breakup the two had had. And now, well before Mordecai had even wrapped his head around that whole disaster, there was a new variable. Mordecai had yet to move on from Viktor, and now that he felt that perhaps he could, even should, it was hard for him to decide. So, Mordecai kept quiet about it, even as he pondered over it nearly consistently. Mordecai would have to wait for some sort of sign, change, or obvious path to follow, and until then, this state of near-limbo would have to suffice.

It was later that day, and Rocky had finished up what Mitzi had asked of him, and had gone back to the storeroom. Rocky was talking with Mordecai in the hall. Mordecai sat himself on a crate that Rocky had brought from the garage after he had worked in there. Rocky leaned against the wall, warm after lifting and moving things that Zib was supposed to.

"So all I'm asking is: you wouldn't happen to know anything about where he is, would you?" Rocky asked.

"No, why would I?" Mordecai wondered, cleaning his glasses with his shirt as he held them in his hand.

"Well, I was just wondering. You seem to know a lot of people, it's possible that you know what's going on with him."

"I know that he works here, plays in the band, and that he was the one who locked me up here."

"Oh, but you're enjoying it so much, Mordecai! I know you just can't get enough of this place and its beautiful underground atmosphere."

"Of course, I'm having just the best week of my life, being held hostage here," Mordecai replied dryly. It was strange, it was both a sarcastic comment as well as a somewhat genuine, although hyperbolic statement.

"Well that's great news," Rocky smiled, "really great."

"So what do you think about it, then? _You _had to do the work that he—"

There was some sort of noise that echoed down the tunnels, causing Mordecai to cut himself off. It sounded like some sort of grunt or even a shout. It came from the garage, where Rocky had been less than five minutes ago. The two, their conversation having been immediately stopped, listened carefully to try and tell what it was.

"That groan seems wholly familiar," Mordecai whispered.

"...I think I should go get Freckle; this must be some sort of—"

From behind the corner, a good ways away down the tunnel appeared a figure. The two were practically frozen stiff, their gazes fixed on the silhouette. They were filled with the sudden dread that someone was in there, someone who seemed unfamiliar and wasn't expected, before both seemed to come back to life in a sense.

Rocky was the first to speak. "What's Viktor doing here?"

Mordecai felt his pocket, finding with his hand the glasses Viktor supposedly wanted to give to Mordecai as if he was checking that he had his keys before leaving the house. Mordecai looked into the eyes of Viktor, who did _not _seem particularly joyful and felt a sudden near-terrored panic. "Why the hell is Viktor here?" Mordecai took a step back and somewhat slipped behind Rocky, almost as if he were a child hiding behind a parent at the sight something scary. It was rather undignified.

"Heya, Viktor! What're you doing out of your chair?" Rocky asked, projecting his voice.

Viktor coughed for a moment, then shouted, "Here to talk."


	16. Argument

"What're you here to talk about?" Rocky asked as Viktor approached. He had no more trouble walking than usual but seemed to grimace slightly as he did.

"Talk to Mordecai," Viktor said.

"Oh, he's, uh…" Rocky trailed off, trying to think of how to finish his thought.

"I don't want to do that," Mordecai whispered from behind Rocky.

"Not here," Rocky finished, continuing to look at Viktor.

"I see him behind you," Viktor argued.

"Um, I don't." Viktor was now only a few feet away from Rocky and had stopped approaching. Rocky tried to stand in the way so that Mordecai couldn't be seen. It, of course, wasn't working.

"Let me talk to him. Go somevhere else."

"Well, I—"

"Mordecai," Viktor interrupted, "vhy are you here? Vhy come back?"

Mordecai sighed, lightly pushing Rocky out of the way. He shuffled aside. "I could ask the same about you; you clearly are in no state to limp your way out here." Mordecai gestured to Viktor with his hand, sweeping it across his figure.

"And I thought you in no state to hide behind boy."

"I'm not _that _young," Rocky added.

"It's only because I don't exactly want to be forced to argue with you," Mordecai argued.

"Too afraid to talk, even?" Viktor ridiculed.

"Well, surely you remember how you were last time."

"Vhat, about me being angry, you're confused? You shot me in the knees!" Viktor's voice faltered as he finished his thought, only barely being able to get his sentence out before having a somewhat violent coughing fit into his hand.

"You left me with no other choice, Viktor."

Viktor cleared his throat quietly, rubbing the back of his hand against his pants. "No other choice?" His voice was rather raspy now. "Nonsense. And that vasn't enough? Come back to rob vhat's left?"

"It's just business; we both engaged in our fair share of dirty work, and this is nothing new. This shouldn't be your hill to die on."

"You don't haff even second thoughts? Just steal from old friends?"

"Of course I had second thoughts, but scr—"

"It didn't matter enough?" Viktor cut in. Rocky just stood to the side and awkwardly watched two draw closer together and seemingly get increasingly more angry.

"It's _work, _Viktor, I don't know what else you want from me. Extortion, arson, and murder, among other things, wasn't enough for you to draw the line, so why is this?"

"These people gave you vork, money to live, experience, so on, and you just come and disregard everything and try to destroy that. Just cause Asa told you?"

"So did you really just shamble over here to try and make me feel guilty over this? Was this your whole purpose? You'd put yourself in physical pain and disregard your rather grave injuries just so that you could feel high and mighty? Is _that _what this is about?" Mordecai was raising his voice some. Rocky was now trying not to look directly at either of the two, twiddling his thumbs.

"I vanted to talk. After everything that you've done, I thought I deserved that much."

"Okay then. What is it? What did you want to talk about?"

"I vanted to see if you still had sense in you."

"Oh, okay, " Mordecai half-sniggered, "I see. So I was right. We've had this argument before, and it didn't turn out wonderfully, so maybe we can skip out on a repeat."

"You can't shoot me."

"Alright then, if that's truly your only objection, then sure, let's go ahead; I work for the Marigolds now, and that's that on that. Our argument already happened, and the effects of that have already come to fruition. The die has been cast, I've crossed the Rubicon. It's been done."

"They're more important than friends?"

"You know that it was a hard decision to make, Viktor! We alread—"

"Than me?" Viktor's voice was giving out in his increasingly agitated fight.

"That was the hardest part: leaving you, but that didn't mean that I was going to let myself wither away in destitution or die on some sort of dangerous job just for that."

"Hold on, what do—" Rocky tried to interject.

"Run away at the drop of a hat? Offer yourself to the highest bidder?" Viktor snarled.

"It's not cowardice. Nor is it greed."

"You haff done bad at making it seem that vay."

"It's not my job to convince you Viktor."

"Really? It's not? Then who has that job?"

"I already tried to explain this to you Viktor! Infamously! And since you seemed to salvage _nothing _from that conversation, then it is just _not _my job to give you an explanation every time you're upset."

Viktor glanced at Rocky, who was standing to the side of Mordecai, not too unlike how Mordecai stood behind Rocky when he first saw Viktor. Viktor stared him down for a brief moment. "Vell then maybe your beau could explain," Viktor jeered, gesturing at Rocky.

"What?" Rocky blurted out.

"You think—" Mordecai began.

"You move on from me vhen ve disagree, and get together with this boy. And you'll move on from _him _vhen _you two _disagree. You're greedy vith the money and you're greedy vith the bo—"

"I think you should leave, Viktor." Mordecai was staring Viktor down. Rocky felt that something bad was just about to happen.

"Vhy? Forced to face truth?" Viktor smirked, crossing his arms.

"Just hobble back to your little hole in the wall and we can _both _move on."

"Make me."

"Do you think I won't? Or perhaps you think the holes in your chest give you some sort of combat advantage?"

"Uh, I think you two should—" Rocky uttered.

"Quiet!" both of the two shouted, turning towards Rock before turning back to face the other.

"Perhaps you think you've _ever _bested me? Even in bed you—" Mordecai, with his left hand, closed into a fist, swung at Viktor's jaw. He pulled back. "There ve go," he chuckled hoarsely. In just a second or two the two had begun fighting.

Rocky quickly tried to jump in the middle and physically separate the two. He shouted, "Whoa! Hold on!" He ducked down low and tried to push the two apart. Above his crouched position, the two were quickly attacking each other, mostly ignoring that Rocky was there at all.

Ten or so seconds later, with Rocky barely being able to separate the two, and both hurling both insults and punches at each other, Freckle came from down the hall, walking quickly. Once he saw what was happening, he rushed over and joined Rocky in trying to separate the two. The two together were managing to pull the two apart some. The scene was becoming vicious as well as uncontrollably loud.

After a minute, the two were separated, and each brawler was being held back by one of the two cousins. Rocky was trying to hold back Viktor and was doing poorly. He was behind him, trying to keep him pulled back, but wasn't the greatest match against Viktor. Freckle had his arm wrapped around Mordecai under his chin, holding him back rather effectively. In being physically separated, at least mostly, the two were no longer trying to punch each other. But, they were continuing to yell insults at one another. In this vicious shouting match, the noise had grown loud enough for Mitzi to become concerned enough to come down and try to figure it out. She appeared from down the hall, in much the same Freckle did, and she rushed over, struggling to get a word in so as to figure out what was happening. Ivy was perhaps only a few paces behind her, trying to find and quiet the noise as the other two who had come down were trying to do, and she followed into the fray.

It was upon seeing Ivy, as well as finally starting to feel the punches, and accidental claw marks, that Mordecai had dealt, that Viktor ceased to shout at the other in a violent sort of mix of Slovakian curses and English insults. He now silently looked at Ivy as she hurried over.

This was when Mitzi could finally get a word in. "What are you two doing?"

"What are you doing here, Viktor?" Ivy asked, speaking as Mitzi was finishing her sentence.

Mordecai spoke, "Viktor limped in here and tried to pick a fight with me."

"Was that what happened?" Mitzi asked, looking at Rocky now.

"Talking," Viktor answered to Ivy.

"Well, it's not exac—" Rocky added into the mess of voices.

"Shut up!" Freckle shouted, quieting everyone and getting their attention, "You guys are all just talking over each other."

"Is what Mordecai said," Mitzi questioned, waiting a moment to speak after Freckle finished, "accurate?"

"Viktor came in, and the two started arguing. Then they started fighting. For some reason."

"I told you you were in no condition to do that, Viktor!" Ivy lectured.

"Sorry, dievka," Viktor apologized.

"Alright, I think you need to go back home, Viktor," Mitzi instructed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "and you need to put Mordecai back in the storeroom for now, Rocky, and then we should all have a talk."

Rocky looked over to Mordecai, who glanced back. "Okay," Rocky agreed.

"Alright, Viktor, let's get you back home," Ivy said, getting the two to start heading back toward the garage. "Did you get hurt? More than you are already?" Their conversation trailed out as they walked away from the others.

"Do you need anything?" Rocky asked quietly, opening the door to the storeroom for Mordecai. Mitzi stood only a few feet away from the two of them. She seemed to be talking, nearly whispering, to Freckle.

"I'm fine," Mordecai stated matter-of-factly, holding the left side of his jaw.

"Ice or something? You got punched right in the face."

"I'm alright." Rocky felt that he ought to get him something after all that had happened, but he didn't want to press it further, and Mitzi was basically waiting for him to hurry up.

"Alright then. See ya." Mordecai nodded subtly as Rocky closed the door. He locked the door and stood there for a moment before sighing. He then turned to face the other two and walked towards them.

"Let's talk," Mitzi urged, beginning to walk down the hall. The boys followed suit, walking alongside her. "So, Rocky."

"Yeah?" Rocky acknowledged his name.

"Why were they arguing? Why'd they start fightin'?"

"Something to do with Mordecai going to go work at the Maribel. Viktor wasn't happy about it."

"Again?" Mitzi groaned. "It's such a sore spot for the two of them, and yet they keep coming back to each other to argue about it."

"Is this the first time?"

"No, I've heard from Viktor that it's happened once or twice before, but it's the first time they've done that here. But unless Viktor's purposefully leaving out details, it might be the first time that it got so… vicious."

"...Did they used to be together?"

"Yeah, they did. They were always trying to look professional when they were working— they would never let on that they were dating. And, you know, I didn't really care about it; they could do whatever they wanted. At the very least, I thought it might keep them from stabbing each other in the back. I guess, in the end, that more or less happened, though."

"Are you gonna do anything about them fighting each other?"

"Try to keep 'em separated. Other than that, I don't know— I'll have to think about it." Mitzi cleared her throat. "But there's something else I wanted us to talk about here."

"Yeah?"

"You have feelings for Mordecai."

"That's not true."

"Okay. Well, listen, it's great and all that you have an object of affection, but I need you to be careful; you can't forget that Mordecai is still an intruder and _not _a guest. I don't want to have to intervene, but if Mordecai ends up manipulating you, I might have to."

"He's not manipulating me." Rocky was stern about this.

"Alright. I just need you to realize that Mordecai is pretty clever. And don't forget that he'll be heading back to the Maribel before long. Things could change at that point."

"Okay."

"Okay. Now, I'm gonna go back upstairs and get back to work, and Freckle's gonna manage the café now that Ivy's gone. All I need from you is just to make sure that Viktor doesn't come back trying to start something. And don't let Mordecai leave, of course."

"I can do that."

"Good. Keep up the good work; you've done a great job these past few days." With that, Mitzi and Freckle broke off and made their way back upstairs, heading the same way that Viktor and Ivy had gone.

Rocky headed back to the storeroom. He sat down on a crate, which creaked as he did.

"...You're sure you don't need anything, Mordecai?" Rocky asked quietly.

"I'm fine. I need nothing. Thanks," Mordecai answered.

"So, do you need to talk about what just happened there with Viktor?"

"I'd rather not right now."

"Okay." Rocky paused, "So, Viktor thought that we were… together?"

"Apparently."

"Well, that's… you, uh, do you—"

"I don't know. I don't particularly want to talk about that right now."

"Alright. Do you want me to go?"

"That would be appreciated for the time being."

"Alright. See you some other time." Rocky stood up. His farewell got no audible response from Mordecai after he waited for a moment. He went ahead and walked away, leaving Mordecai alone. The two would have to talk about what happened at some point, though, rocky figured. Rocky had some questions.

Mordecai was left alone with his thoughts. That whole situation was basically the exact worst case scenario Mordecai had in mind if and when Viktor came to see him here in captivity. His suit had been messed up. Plenty of details had been divulged that Mordecai didn't want to be. Mordecai had been bruised, and his jaw ached. And there was a flood of hypotheticals, plans, questions, and general thoughts rushing through Mordecai's head. Viktor had gotten to Mordecai. And none of this was what Mordecai had wanted. Perhaps it would be time to tell Rocky about all of this soon.


	17. Officer

Nico sat on a cherry red leather couch. He leaned forward, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, which added smoke to an already smoky room. With his right hand, he quickly fixed his hair, sweeping it to the side. Nico had been recovering from his relatively minor, yet still painful, injuries over the past couple of days. His stabbed back had been bandaged up, and he'd been taking time to relax. Now he, his sister, and Asa were all together to discuss business again, however.

"So, I can be confident in saying that just throwin' you at the problem again isn't gonna make it go away, can't I?" Asa grumbled.

"Sure," Nico shrugged.

"I mean, I send you two out _with _Mordecai, you lose him. I send you to _get _Mordecai, you get beaten by a damn violinist with a bottle. Are you not a boxer?"

"Not against bottles."

Asa sighed. "And _you _apparently didn't even _bother._" Asa gestured to Serafine, lounging back on the same couch as Nico, to his right.

"T'ought it was handled," Serafine muttered.

"Clearly it wasn't," Asa said, raising his voice some. "I don't know if you two became terrible at your job over this past week, or if you just don't wanna help Mordecai out, but regardless, you two can't be doing this anymore."

"Doin' what?" Nicodeme asked.

"These jobs." Asa scoffed. "I'll try sending you two out to do somethin' else in a couple days, so if you really just hate Mordecai, then you can stop disappointing me and actually keep contributing. Until then, I've got something in mind." Asa reached over and began rifling through a small stack of papers. Continuing to look at the papers, he added, "Serafine, this involves you."

"What?" Serafine leaned forward, appearing somewhat intrigued.

"The cops have been making things just hell 'round here; maybe you've noticed. But," Asa pulled a scrap of paper out from the stack, looking up at Serafine, "they can also make things hell for the other guys."

Asa stood up, cleared his throat, and walked over to the couch where Serafine sat. "There's a guy working with the police as of late— name's Dominic. He's a federal agent, greyish, older-lookin'. Due to his meddling, I've been making sure everyone avoids him like the plague. Cause, as it were, he's damn good at his job. But if you can innocently tip him off to some… illicit activity down by the café, then maybe we can get some use out of him." He slipped Serafine the slip of paper. "Head there— to the station. Let Dominic know that you, a completely innocent bystander, have seen some liquor in and around the Little Daisy. Then the long arm of the law can take care of them for us."

Serafine smirked subtly as she read and memorized the address on the slip of paper. "I like it." She stood up.

"Do that and I can just about forget that you two have been completely incompetent recently. Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. C'mon, Nico." Nico stood up from the couch and the two left the room, heading out of the building towards their car.

It was near sunset. The sun was approaching the horizon, and illuminating the sky in orange and pink. Light began pouring through many of the windows in nearby buildings. Mostly ignoring this, Serafine opened the door to the police station and walked in. Luckily for her, she happened to walk in only moments after Dominic had come back into the building. She approached him, doing her best to seem nervous or lost.

"Sir?" Serafine asked as she approached Dominic. He saw her out of the corner of his eye and turned towards her.

"Yes?" Dom responded.

"You a cop?"

"Well, not exactly." Dominic shifted his stance. "I work for the Treasury— Bureau of Prohibition."

Serafine kept from smirking; she'd found him. So easy. "Oh, dat's good den. Dere's bootleggers at de café."

Dom seemed interested. "Where? What café?"

"Lil' Daisy."

Dominic paused for a moment, clearing his throat. "What did you see? What happened?"

Serafine had planned for this part while driving here. "Was havin' lunch dere, and saw dey got dis underground place. Saw all dese bottles and booze. Ran outta dere cause dey was tryna kill me."

"You said this happened at the Little Daisy Café?"

"Yeah."

"How long ago was this?"

"Today, jus' a couple hours ago."

Dominic hummed in thought for a moment. "You said that there was an underground speakeasy?"

"Yeah, it's under de café."

"You saw alcohol, too?"

"Lots."

"You're sure of that, miss?"

"Very."

Dominic put his hand on his neck and sighed. "Alright. Thank you for reporting this. I'll make sure that something's done as soon as possible."

Serafine smiled. "Oh, dat's good. Good luck, den."

"Thanks." Serafine walked out of the station as Dom waved goodbye to her. This new information changed things for Dominic. He could easily be nearing the end of this case. He'd been monitoring the building over these past few days, and the rapid increase of activity was a tad bit suspicious. But if what he was told was true, then this could be an easy success for him.

It was later that evening; the sun had set already, street lights were on up and down the road, and the sky was just about as dark as it was going to get. Dominic set the reports he'd been pouring over down on his desk and stood up. There was just one last thing he needed to reassure himself if he was to go through with what he had in mind. He took a short walk through part of the building and made his way to the holding cell. The alcoholic mess would probably be released the next day. The other guy though, Zibowski; signs weren't pointing to the same outcome. He seemed to be deep in thought, somewhat hunched over, his head resting on the heel of his hand. As Dom walked over to the cell, it seemed to grab his attention, and he lifted his head up and looked over as his ear turned towards the sound of his footsteps.

"Zib, was it?" Drago asked, stopping, putting his hands together behind his back in a sort of patrolman fashion.

"Yeah, it is," Zib said.

"Would you be able to answer some questions for me?"

"Is 'no' even an option."

Dom chuckled. "I suppose not, no."

"Alright then. _Yes, _I'd love to." He stood up and shuffled over towards the cell bars.

"Great." Dom cleared his throat. He'd thought of his questions earlier and was going to more or less just recite them. "Where is it exactly that you say you're employed?"

"Oh, uh, well I work at a café not too far away— just a ways down the road, really. Speaking of which, I've missed a few days of work there in being here."

"So the name "Little Daisy Café' is familiar then?"

"Well, that's where I work. Yeah."

"When do you play? Time of day, days of the week, months in the year."

Zib stumbled over his words for a moment. "I play in the evenings with some other guys I work with. It's usually most nights we play."

"Where exactly do you play? I've been to the café myself, and it doesn't seem like there's exactly a space for a whole band."

"Oh, well, it's not _that _large— we play in the, uh, corner, by the window."

"So what's the rest of the band doing without you then?"

"Probably struggling to play the songs right. That's why you should just let me off with, maybe, a warning? If you'd be so kind? I mean, all I—"

"What songs do you play?"

"Well, we play a lot of different songs, actually. Been learning to play Blue Skies recently."

"Good choice; that's a good song," Dominic hummed in approval.

"Not actually too hard to play, fortunately."

"That's good to hear. Probably not as good as hearing you play, though." Dom chuckled, mostly fakely.

"Oh, that's… yeah," Zib smiled awkwardly.

"Get a couple drinks, listen to the band play."

"Yeah, I mean, you could, if only I was back at the café."

"Maybe. Maybe me and some of these other guys," Drago gestured at a couple of the officers at the table nearby, who weren't paying attention, "could make our way down, underground there."

"You'd have to get— hold on, what are you talking about?"

"Under the café, where all the good stuff happens."

"I don't know what you're talking about. We play in the café. I don't know anything about any sort of underground bar."

"I didn't say anything about a bar." Dominic shifted his weight onto his other foot.

"I— you were talking about drinks only a second ago."

"Alright then, Zib." Dom half-chuckled. "Listen here. I know about what's going on there at the café. You're selling drinks down there that my department wouldn't be a fan of."

"I don't know anything about that. If something like that _is _happening, I can't provide any information about that."

"Okay, well, maybe that pin of yours could." Dom gestured roughly at Zib's chest.

"Already told you about that— it's just a favorite suit. Clearly, I've been given reason to reconsider, though."

"Okay, keep your _suit, _then. If you don't wanna be cooperative, you by god don't have to be."

Zib gritted his teeth. "I don't know anything more." Maybe this was the wrong decision for him to be making.

"Alright, then. I believe you, Zib." Dom stood upright, letting his hands fall to his sides as he stopped putting them behind him. "That was all I had to ask."

"Oh, good."

"Yes, I suppose I ought to stop pestering you now. Goodnight, then."

"Yeah, same to you." Dominic walked off.

It wasn't as clear-cut as Dom would have wanted; there was no grand capitulation and admittance of wrongdoing, but it was more than enough for Dominic to investigate a bit more. It could be a bit invasive and hands-on— perhaps even a bit illicit, but if he just got the confession he needed, then all would be righted. Tomorrow he'd stroll down to the titular café, and someone there would give him what he needed to hear. Then it would be all said and done for their operation.


	18. Questions

It was midmorning, and Ivy and Freckle were managing the café as patrons came in for a somewhat early lunch, others for some sort of brunch. The two were chatting as they served the patrons as needed.

"So is he okay then?" Freckle asked, glancing over his shoulder as he poured coffee for an older gentleman at one of the booths.

"Yeah, he'll be okay. His pneumonia's acting up again, though. I don't know what compelled him to not only make his way over here or to yell at the top of his broken lungs. And that's _before _mentioning their fistfight," Ivy explained, preparing a sandwich halfway across the kitchen.

"Do you think he'll need to see a doctor again?" Freckle straightened himself and walked back behind the counter, setting the half-empty pot back onto the counter.

"Probably not. I just need to force him to rest." Ivy paused for a moment, her sandwich-making hands stopping, too, "Do you think I can weigh him down with enough blankets?"

"Um, I don't think so."

"What else could I do, then? Lock his door— here's your sandwich, miss— from the inside?" Ivy set the sandwich she'd finished making down on the counter in front of a woman.

"How would you do that? Wouldn't that be dangerous?" Freckle squatted down to retrieve something from a shelf behind the counter.

"How much more dangerous could that be than—" Ivy was cut off as Freckle stood up, knocking into Ivy. He almost dropped a pan he'd grabbed, and Ivy reached out and awkwardly grabbed it by the rim. The two were leaning into each other for a moment.

"Sorry! Sorry," Freckle apologized, grabbing the pan back from Ivy and backing up, turning to the stove. He placed the aforementioned pan on top of one of the burners.

"Sure, make it seem like an accident. It's fine if you wanna be forward like that, McMurray."

"Uh, I'm sorry. It—" The front door swung open, and Freckle trailed off briefly as he looked to it, seeing if it was another customer to look over. Walking through the door was a few individuals; one of which he actually recognized.

The new customers walked over to the counter and two sat down at some empty stools next to each other. The third leaned onto the stool of one of the others, kind of in the middle of the two, behind them. Freckle cracked an egg into the pan he'd pulled out, and he took a couple steps of to the side, over to the three. "Hello, is there anything I can get for you?" Freckle asked in a fashion similar to how Ivy had demonstrated earlier in the day.

"We'd all appreciate a water, if you would," the middle one, which Freckle recognized as Dominic, the guy from the last few days, asked. Freckle was immediately unnerved as he noticed a distinct outline in his coat. It was subtle, but Freckle clearly recognized that he had a pistol in, presumably, his coat pocket.

"Is that it for now?"

"For now. And, uh, what's your name, pal? I remember seeing you here the other day."

"Calvin."

"Calvin. Well, Calvin, we'd actually like to talk with you a bit."

"Um, okay, one minute, please." Freckle walked away a few steps, getting some water for the three.

"Ivy," Freckle whispered in the direction of Ivy, who was busy putting cash away in the register.

Ivy's ear turned towards Freckle, and she turned her head. "Yeah?" she half-whispered.

"That guy," Freckle quietly explained, pointing to Dominic, "has a gun on him."

"Uh, okay. Don't upset him too much, I guess."

"That's not…" Freckle waved his hand as if to say '"forget about it". He finished with the three glasses of water and brought them back to the customers, and carefully handed them to the men.

"Thanks, Calvin," Dom said before taking a sip of the water.

"You, uh, wanted to talk with me, you said?"

"Yes, yes. We'd like to talk with you in a moment. As long as you're free, of course." The guy on the left of Dom quickly gulped his drink down almost as if he hadn't had a drink in days.

"Well, I've kinda got work to do, actually." Freckle gestured back at the café.

"I think you can step aside for a little bit, surely."

"I can talk some as a server, but I've still gotta work."

"I can assure you, it's important." Dom leaned in closer, "It's got something to do with your friend, Zib." The guy on Drago's left finished his glass, setting it down on the counter.

"Excuse me," the guy on the left mumbled before standing up and leaving the café. He quickly disappeared around the corner outside.

"What happened?" Freckle asked, briefly watching the left man leaving, before his eyes darted back to Dominic.

"We can discuss it if you come with us."

"Come with you? Where?" Freckle was _not _confident about this.

"We just need to discuss some things, have ourselves a talk, and then you can get back to work. Although, we understand if you're too busy, Calvin."

"...How long is it gonna take?" Freckle looked over his shoulder at Ivy, dashing around to deal with customers' wants.

"Not long, not long at all. Might be able to have ourselves a conversation and bring you back before anyone's even finished their food."

"Well, what's happened with Zib?"

Dominic cleared his throat. "Zib's gotten himself into a bit of trouble. We're hoping that you can help us set the record straight."

"Is that it?"

"That's it." Dom set his glass down, having drunk about a third of it, "So, are you free?"

Freckle hesitated. If some random guy had come into the café wanting to talk to Freckle in private, warning about Zib, he wouldn't even really consider it. But, Zib had, from what he's seen and heard, basically disappeared these past few days, so maybe there was truth in what Dominic said. And Dom wasn't some random guy. Well, he was, and perhaps Freckle might have called him that in most other contexts, but Freckle _had _seen Dom around the past few days. He still wasn't exactly sure what that meant or why he was here, but it does mean that maybe he did have some sort of connection to this.

Freckle was entirely on the fence. But, if he could get Zib out of whatever vague trouble Dominic had mentioned just by giving some _non-incriminating_ information, then Freckle would do it. But, just in case things weren't as they seemed, and this was just an absolutely stupid idea, Freckle had the pistol he'd been using the past few days nearby. He'd basically been watching over it since Mitzi had given it to him, so he'd been keeping it nearby most of the time. He'd set it under the counter, out of the way of most things. If Freckle was to go with Dominic, he was gonna bring that.

"Alright, sure. Just gimme a moment," Freckle answered.

"Of course," Dom smiled, taking another sip of water.

Freckle took a few steps down the length of the counter, over towards Ivy. He reached down under the counter as inconspicuously as he could manage. As he did, he muttered to Ivy, "I'm gonna go talk with those guys for a bit."

"What? Why?" Ivy wondered.

"Apparently there's something going on with Zib. Do you need me to keep helping with the café?"

"No, I'm fine. But do you even know those guys?"

"I've seen one of them a few times over the past couple of days. Him and Rocky talked the other day." Freckle stood up, having pocketed the gun.

"Well, if you don't come back in an hour, I'll assemble a search party, okay?" Ivy smiled.

"Okay," Freckle slightly smiled.

Freckle walked back to the two guys, ready as he was going to be to leave. And this was a dumb decision, it still felt like. "Okay, we can head out," Freckle said.

"Oh, good. Let's go, then," Dominic agreed. The three then left the café through the front door, taking a brief walk to a car parked nearby. Dominic and the other guy sat in the front, with Freckle sitting behind Dom. Drago started up the car and began down the street.

Freckle quickly glanced out of the window, looking back towards the café. "What happened to that other guy? Where'd he go?" he asked.

"Ah," Dom began, "he had some other business to attend to, I'm afraid."

"Oh, sure."

Freckle sat silently in the back of the car for a minute or two, unsure if he should back out now. Were they heading somewhere? He couldn't tell yet. Or were they going to ask him questions here in the car? If it was the latter, then why weren't they doing that already? Freckle felt in unfamiliar territory in some ways. He wasn't cut out for making these sorts of decisions on his own. It was different when he was full of adrenaline. Now it was just difficult to make the right move.

After some more thinking about his situation, he peeped up, "Can you tell me more about what's going on with Zib?"

"Well, I don't see why not." Dom turned his head for a moment towards the other guy, "You don't see anything wrong with it, do you?"

"Nah, go ahead," he answered.

"Alright then. So, Zib broke a pretty important rule, as it were. He was, well, half-seas over in some alley with some other drunkard, and he got locked up for a bit. But all that's needed is just some basic information, you know, clear everything up. And then he can be on his merry way back home."

Freckle pondered that for a second. "Are you… an officer?"

"Me? No, I'm not a police officer. But I'd like to fix this whole wreck," Dom sniggered.

"Where are we going?" Freckle asked, now a tad more anxious than before.

"Well, to clear things up, we're gonna go see Zib for a bit."

Freckle fell back into his seat. Sitting up straight before, perceptive and ready, now he was just fearing the worst, and perhaps even a bit defeated. Things would be alright, he assured himself, but as things were now, this would be a really dangerous thing to be doing. Going to the police station as a murderer and a bootlegger? That couldn't be smart.

"Calvin, you seem a bit nervous. Is something wrong?" Dominic wondered.

"No, I'm good. Thanks for asking," he hurriedly replied.

"Alright, well, don't sweat it. It's all gonna be sorted soon." Dominic took a left turn, and Freckle put his right hand down on the seat to resist the inertia of the quick turn. "Ah, and… here we are." They were now in front of the station. Freckle examined it some as Dominic parked the car. He'd been here briefly before, before Rocky had roped him into all this. Heh, maybe he could get himself back into training if he pulled the right strings.

Once sufficiently parked, the two in the front opened their doors and stepped out. Freckle did the same. The three car doors were closed in quick succession, and the three headed towards the building's main entrance, climbing up a few steps in the process.

The other man broke off as they walked into the building, going some other way, into some other room. It was now just Dominic who was leading Freckle through the building as if he owned the place. As far as Freckle knew, maybe he damn well _did_ own the place. Maybe he knew more about Freckle than he let on. Freckle didn't really wanna think about that possibility. Of course, that just meant that that was the only thing he could think about as he was led farther into the building.

The two passed from an open sort of area, through some double doors, and then before them was a cell. Inside was someone curled up on the floor and beside him, clear as day, was Zib. He was sat against the wall, his arms wrapped around his knees, seemingly lost in thought. He didn't look like he was particularly in the best shape.

"Zib," Dom boomed, quickly getting his attention, "let's talk some, shall we?" Zib began standing up, pushing off of his knee to get to an upright position. As he did, he noticed Freckle.

"Freckle? What are you doing here?" Zib loudly wondered.

"Helping? I think?" Freckle responded.

"What Calvin's doing here is helping provide some details pertaining to you and your arrest. Maybe then we can have you back to Blue Skies," Dom smirked, walking up to the cell. Freckle followed.

Zib looked distraught. "What could he even tell you that would get me released?" he asked.

"Hold on, _are_ you an officer?" Freckle added.

"Just have some basic questions for him. You too, Zib. And, no, I'm still not a police officer. I'm just interested in this situation, and I can put an end to Zib's sentence, granted that you'll let me," Dom explained.

"Uh, sure," Freckle said.

"Great. Now let's see if we can all figure this situation out. And let me assure the both of you— this won't take too long, okay?"


	19. Deceived

Dominic and Freckle were gathered outside of the holding cell, and Zib was stood behind the bars, leaning against them. They were almost loosely huddled together, standing in a circle, or perhaps a triangle. Zib looked rather unconcerned, Freckle looked rather concerned, and Dom looked rather confident.

"Alright then," Drago grabbed a notepad off of a nearby table and stood ready to take notes, "let me ask the both of you a few things. So let's start with this, Calvin; what is the Little Daisy?"

Freckle looked confused for a moment. "It's a… it's a café. We were just there. That's where I was working, remember?"

Dominic chuckled. "Yes, I remember. Just a question to make sure we're on the same page here, okay? Okay then, what are both of your jobs at the Little Daisy?"

"Play saxophone. Same as before," Zib mumbled.

"I'm a, um, a server there. You saw me do that, too," Freckle stated.

"Alright," Dominic muttered, scribbling down notes, "who else works there?"

Freckle began to list out names as he carefully thought about what names to omit. He wasn't going to mention Horatio, because he wasn't involved with the café at all, so mentioning him wouldn't really make sense. "Both of us, um," Freckle began as Zib gave him a look, "Rocky, Ivy, Viktor, and the, uh, rest of Zib's band. Rocky's part of that, actually. Oh, and Mitzi, the owner." Zib shook his head wearily for a moment. Oh. He probably shouldn't have mentioned Vitkor, either. He didn't really have anything to do with the café, either.

"I remember speaking with Rocky. He plays in the band, too?" Dominic looked up after, presumably, writing the names down, to see Freckle.

"Was he— oh, yeah, he plays in the band, too."

Dominic hummed in response, writing some more down. "So is that everyone who works there?"

"Yeah."

"Good to know." Dominic looked up, taking another glance at Freckle before looking back down and scribbling something out, then hurriedly writing something below it. Uh oh. Had he messed up somehow? "So, Mitzi. She's the owner of the café, you said?"

"Uh huh." Freckle's eyes darted back up from Dom's notepad as he tried to think about what he might have messed up.

"What's her surname?"

"May."

"Alright. And just one more thing for the record; both of you, Zib especially, are aware of the laws against alcohol handling and consumption?" Zib looked up from the floor to look at Dom at the mention of his name.

"Yup, got it," Zib said.

"Yeah, it's the eighteenth amendment," Freckle responded.

"Yes, exactly. Good." Dom took a quick note. "Okay. That's all I've got to ask the two of you. But, um, Calvin, if you'd come into my office for a few minutes. I've got just a couple more questions to ask you, if you would."

Freckle stuttered, "Oh, uh, yeah. Alright." Zib stood himself upright, at least, more than before, and looked at Freckle, concerned.

"Good, good. Now come in here with me." Dominic opened a door just off to the side, walking inside. He held the door open as Freckle walked in before pushing it closed, leaving Zib alone in the cell again. Well, as alone as he could get— Vergil was still there with him, even if he'd just been asleep on the floor for the last, well, however long. This whole situation wasn't great. He was still locked up, indefinitely, and Freckle could be moments away from spilling the beans on the whole bootlegging operation right to the Treasury guy.

Freckle was in a small office— desk, telephone, filing cabinet, etc. A small window was open, letting in a light breeze, which put the room at a comfortable temperature. It was actually a rather enjoyable space, and Freckle would have felt peaceful here if it weren't for the whole questioning thing.

Dominic sat down at the desk, setting his notepad down in front of him. He scooted in and said, "Take a seat, Calvin." He gestured to a wooden chair sat against the wall opposite him. Freckle obliged, pulling the seat closer towards the desk before taking a seat. The seemingly old chair creaked as he did.

Drago grabbed a manila folder off of a small stack of papers, setting it in front of him, pushing the notepad aside some as he did. He opened it, grabbed the pencil he'd been using to take notes, and readied himself to write. "I hope you don't mind a few more questions."

"No, it's fine, as long as we don't take too long," Freckle half-laughed in a fake sort of way.

"Of course. So then, let's not waste time; where does Zib and his band perform in the Little Daisy?"

Shoot. "Um, they perform, well, usually, at least, sort of in the corner."

"Well, I've been to the building myself— which corner?" He seemed to be itching to write something down.

"Um, it's the one that's sort of in the— in the back, to the right."

"Hmm, alright." Indeed, he scribbled something down. "Now I'm gonna need you not to lie on this next question, alright? Have you ever seen Zib drink liquor, wine, beer, moonshine, et cetera?"

"No."

"Good. That's good to hear." Dom took notes. "Now, if you would— I spoke with Rocky the other day, if you remember."

"Yeah."

"I saw you by the counter, also." Dominic paused, "Who was the other guy?"

Oh, hell. Mordecai. That was Mordecai. He didn't mention Mordecai. "That was, uh, that was Viktor. I mentioned him earlier."

"Viktor, huh?" Dominic looked utterly unconvinced.

"Yup, that was Viktor."

"What's his surname?"

Oh, good. He actually had an alibi here; he didn't know his last name. "Sorry, I don't know. I haven't asked him for it." Freckle felt he looked confident giving that answer.

"Would it happen to be Vasko?"

"Um, maybe. I don't know."

"Okay. Well," Dominic searched through some papers in the folder, eventually pulling out a photograph. "Does the Viktor you know look like this?" Drago turned the photograph around and slid the picture towards Freckle. Freckle picked it up and examined it. It was a mugshot of Viktor, with a bandage over his eye. At the very least, Freckle knew his last name now, but there was no way that Freckle could argue that he looked like Mordecai.

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"I mean that that's not the person I saw the other day. Who was it really?"

He couldn't even lie and say it was someone from the band; he didn't know their names. "...Mordecai."

Dominic chuckled, smiling, "Okay, now we've got something here." Dom scrawled more down, "Who's Mordecai?"

He was just going to have to lie, wasn't he? "He's… Well, he's a, uh, he was applying for a job."

"What position was he applying for?"

"He was gonna be, well, a manager."

"Well if he was going to be your manager, why lie about his name?"

"I… Well, there's, um… a—"

Dominic put a stop to his desperate thinking. "I won't bog you down with that question. Forget about it. Here's a different question. A day or two after I spoke with Rocky for the first time, you, Rocky, and _Mordecai_ were in the garage, if you recall. What was that hatch you three came from?"

He _did _see them come from that trapdoor. "It's… Well, it's storage."

"Storage? For what?"

"For food. Stuff for the café"

"Uh huh. There were a lot of wooden crates in that garage; completely unmarked. What was in them?"

"Um, it was plates and bowls and all that. Need to buy more after a while, you know?"

"Of course that's what it was. Let's stop lying." Dominic set down his pencil and stood up, pushing his chair back with a shove against his desk. He began walking slowly around the desk towards Freckle. "I got a tip recently that your café is just a front for an underground bootlegging operation, just as I suspected, and I have a hitch that that trapdoor is an entrance to it. Those crates were full of alcohol. Mordecai is one of those employed by it, as must be Viktor. And judging by that gun you have holstered, you must be, too. Even still, you and Zib gave conflicting answers on where the band performs, and after watching the café for a week or so now, I haven't seen them perform _once. _I haven't even _seen _Zib there. So," Dominic was now right next to Freckle. He looked down at him, glaring, "would you like to correct your answers, then?"

Freckle sat, mouth agape for a moment. He'd been baiting the two of them this whole time. Damn it. He'd ruined everything. This was the absolute worst case scenario for going with Dominic, and it had happened. He was going to go to jail, and so was everyone else. "You… Yes, I lied! I lied about everything!"

Dominic smirked. "Good." He walked back to his chair, sat down, picked up his pencil, and pulled the folder closer to himself. "Is there a bootlegging operation at the Little Daisy?"

"Yes, it's underground." Freckle felt utterly defeated. He felt himself frowning. It felt like he was little kid about to breakdown because he was getting yelled at.

"How do you get in?"

"That trapdoor. And there's a hidden switch in the café in the shelves."

"Interesting. Very clever." Drago was busy, nonstop writing things down. "What is everyone's role in the operation? Who have you forgotten to mention?"

"Mitzi leads everything. Me, Rocky, and Viktor get the alcohol. Zib and Rocky and the rest of the band play music for the guests. There's someone named Horatio that checks guests into the establishment."

"Hmm, a new name there. But, well, what about Ivy? You mentioned her before."

"She doesn't interact with the illegal alcohol at all. She just manages the café."

"Really?"

"Yes." It felt like there was little control over what Freckle was admitting, and it seemed like he was admitting it all— even more than he might have needed to, but he quickly stopped himself from incriminating Ivy. That seemed natural. That was the only lie that was important enough, and possible enough, to get away with.

"When is the establishment open to the public?"

"At night. Around when the café closes to almost early in the morning."

"What's the name of this operation?"

"They've called it Lackadaisy."

"Oh, so I was right. Very, very interesting. Now, what about Mordecai? You mentioned him earlier."

"He works for some other place. He's just being kept there for now."

"Being kept how? Do you know where he _does _work?"

"He works for the Marigolds. He got locked in a closet, and now we won't let him go. He's a hostage."

"Ruthless. You know, you don't give that off, Calvin. And the Marigolds? Hoo, that's certainly an enemy. And a huge fish to fry." Dominic set his pencil down and closed the folder after he finished scribbling down one last thing. "Well, here's something I can help you with." Freckle looked up at him. "You seem like a nice kid, Calvin. I think you can learn a lot from this, and it seems cruel to lock you up. I think you'll go out and become an outstanding member of society. I believe you're better than all this, and I think that you know that as well as I do. So, I'm going to let you go."

"What?" This was news.

"I'll let you off the hook. But, just between the two of us, this is all you'll get. I'm going to go pay a visit to the Lackadaisy tomorrow night, alright? And I don't wanna see you there. If I see even a _drop_ of alcohol, Calvin, I'm going to arrest every living soul on the property. Okay? So, you ought to forget about these people and go off and find yourself a new living. Cause going back, or letting them know, is unlawful. This is between us. No one else can know, or I'll arrest every person attached to the names you gave. You understand?"

"Yes." Freckle was lost in thought. This was overwhelming.

"This is just between the two of us. And best of luck for whatever comes next in your life. I hope it's legal and gainful, both." Dominic opened the door to his office. He held it open and stood to the side for Freckle leave. Freckle stood up slowly— tired. Freckle shuffled out of the office. Dominic left too, closing the door behind him.

Dominic began to guide Freckle back out of the building. Freckle saw, out of the corner of his eye, Zib trying to lock eyes with him, trying to figure out what happened; the shouting Freckle had done earlier couldn't have put him at ease. Freckle couldn't look at him. He felt far too guilty. Freckle kept looking ahead. He'd ruined Zib's life, among everyone else's, and it was all his fault.

Dominic and Freckle left the station. Dominic got in the driver's seat of the car he'd driven in earlier. Freckle got into the passenger's seat, distracted by his thoughts. Dominic asked for where Freckle lived. Freckle mumbled his address. Dominic drove him there, dropping him off at his house. He gave one final goodbye and then drove off. Freckle felt like he was in a dream as he stumbled into the house and up the stairs. He collapsed onto his bed, face-first. He'd ruined everything. Nothing could be done now. This would be the last however many hours before his cousin and all of his coworkers were arrested. He felt his eyes begin to water.

It was nighttime before Freckle dragged himself off of the bed and out of his room. He lifelessly made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. He was just lucky he hadn't been stopped and questioned by his mother. Freckle looked around a bit for something to eat. He settled on a few slices of bread. He put them on a plate and made his way back upstairs. He sat the plate down on his bedside table and crumpled back onto his bed. Goodnight.


	20. Goodnight

Freckle was lying on his bed. It was nearing midnight. He was on his side, half-curled up into a ball. His head rested on his pillow as he stared into nothingness to the side. For what it was worth, he'd managed to eat one of the three slices of bread he'd grabbed, even if that wasn't really a meal and he had eaten it well into the night, so it wasn't like he had been doing _nothing._

His thoughts were muddled, though. There was so much he could be pouring over, so much that had happened that was important and pressing, most of which filled him with anxiety and dread, yet he felt essentially just braindead, not thinking about any of that— or even, anything in general. He was emotionally exhausted. Being interrogated was one thing, but basically betraying Rocky and Ivy and everyone else he'd met, relied on, helped, et cetera recently— that was a step up. That had a much more profound impact on Freckle.

Freckle heard steps coming up the stairs. He could tell it was Rocky; he'd gotten used to the way that Rocky walked, which was easily discernible from his mother's. Rocky had probably just gotten back from Lackadaisy. The steps hastily made their way to Freckle's room, and the door quickly opened as Rocky stepped in. Freckle didn't bother to sit up.

"Freckle! Here you are!" Rocky nearly gasped, spotting him on the bed.

"Yeah," Freckle mumbled.

"Why didn't you come back to the café? Ivy told me you left with that Dominic guy, and that you said he had a gun. Then you just," Rocky made exasperated hand gestures, "disappeared!"

"Sorry."

Rocky sighed, clearly calming down some, his stature even relaxing some. "It's fine— you didn't get killed or kidnapped, so… But what happened? Why'd you disappear? What did Dominic want? Why did he have a gun?

That was a loaded question. Or questions, maybe; they kind of overlapped. Regardless, there was a lot behind that, and most of it Freckle couldn't and didn't want to admit to. "Uh, not much. And he dropped me off here, so I didn't bother going back."

"Dropped you off_ after what?_"

"Asked me some questions."

"About _what?_" Rocky continued to press.

"Stuff about Zib. He got caught drinking."

"Oh… is that why he's been gone recently?"

"Apparently." Freckle rolled onto his back, facing up at his ceiling. His left hand was under his head; it was more comfortable. The two were silent for a moment then.

"Well, what happened with Zib? And what did Dominic have to do with it?"

"He's still in the holding cell in the police station."

"Did you go to the police station and see him?" Rocky sat at the foot of Freckle's bed as he continued to ask him questions.

"Yeah."

"Why did you go to the station? And was Zib alright?"

"Zib was fine." Freckle really didn't want to keep answering all of these questions right now. He was tired, and if there was anything he wanted to do with Rocky right now, it wasn't this.

"Why were you at the police station with Dominic, though?"

"I don't wanna talk about it right now, Rocky."

Rocky paused for a moment, looking at Freckle, who didn't bat an eye at him as he did. "...Are _you _alright? You seem… unhappy."

"I'm fine." Freckle felt his eyes starting to water again. It was a surprise to him, really— it started so suddenly. This could be the last conversation he had with his cousin for a long time, and it was him trying to make his cousin stop talking to him. Freckle tried to blink the burgeoning tears from his eyes. "I'm just tired."

"Well, if you're tired, then you should really turn off the light," Rocky instructed, gesturing to the light switch. If Rocky had noticed Freckle tearing up, he didn't show it.

"Yeah, I know."

"And what's with the nothing sandwich there?" Rocky half-pointed to the two remaining slices of bread on Freckle's bedside table.

"I don't know."

"Alright, well," Rocky chuckled, "don't leave that around for too long, or it'll get moldy, alright?" Rocky stood up from the bed. "Try to actually sleep, instead of just lying there. I've got the light." Rocky switched off the light as he began to make his way out of the room.

Freckle sat up, very quickly wiping the tears from his eyes. "Are you going into the Lackadaisy tomorrow?"

"Uh, well, yeah, I plan on it. It's my job now." Rocky stood half in the doorway, holding the door open, which let in some yellow light from the lights Rocky had switched on elsewhere in the house upon coming back.

"I think you should stay home tomorrow. Maybe we can do something." Maybe he could keep Rocky from going to the trap Freckle had let Dominic set up.

"...I'll think about it." Rocky looked at Freckle for a moment, then seemed somewhat confused. "Are you… crying?"

"I got something in my eyes. Dust or lint or something." Freckle wiped at his eyes again. "But you'll think about it?"

"Yes, I'll think about it," Rocky subtly smiled. "I'll let you know tomorrow. Goodnight, Freckle."

"Night," Freckle muttered before Rocky left the room, gently closing the door behind him as he did.

Freckle lied on his back on top of the covers of his bed in the dark. There was some faint moonlight coming in from his window in between the curtains which just barely illuminated the foot of his bed. Freckle scooted himself under the covers, under which was cool and plenty comfortable. Except for forgetting to change into something for bed, he was completely ready to sleep. He turned onto his side, repositioned himself, and was ready to try to sleep, which he should have been doing already.

An hour, maybe two, had passed now. He'd shifted positions and tried thinking of nothing, or just of certain things, but nothing could get his mind off of the anxiety in the back of his mind from what had happened earlier in the day with Dominic. He had given Dominic information on his friends, and they would be arrested, and it would be Freckle's fault. It would all be Freckle's fault.

Freckle had completely disturbed the covers on his bed and was now lying with his head drooping over the foot of the bed, with blood rushing to his head. He adjusted his position and pulled his head back onto the bed as it started to get uncomfortable. Freckle had to face the fact that no matter what position he took on his bed, he wasn't going to go to sleep. The problem was guilt. He was guilty for ruining his friends. And he hadn't even done anything to try and remedy what he'd done. He was being traitorous. Freckle slowly sat up on his bed. He would have to do something. What he'd done so far was _not_ enough.

Freckle stood up from his bed and left his room. With purpose, he began down the short hall and then down the stairs, although he was sure to be quiet— he didn't want to wake his mother up this late into the night. He unlocked the front door, now standing before it. He took a breath, exhaling slowly, before opening it and walking outside, closing it behind him.

The air outside was somewhat warm, only a bit warmer than room temperature, although it was rather humid. The moon lit up the landscape, seeming particularly bright tonight. The clouds, maybe as a result, seemed clear and pristine. But Freckle ignored his surroundings as he marched, barefoot, over to Rocky's car. He peered through the glass, his face up against the car window, and saw Rocky, asleep in the back. He rapped softly against the glass with the back of his hand on his knuckles.

Rocky's ear perked up, and he raised his head up, looking towards the source of the sound. Once he spotted Freckle, he sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He moved over towards the car door and rolled down the window. "Freckle? What is it?"

"I couldn't sleep." Freckle paused for a moment. "Ther—"

"Well, I can't let you sleep out here with me, cuz."

"No, that's not it. There's something I need to tell you. It's about what happened with Dominic."

That piqued Rocky's interest. "What?"

"Dominic is a federal agent. He drove me to the police station and took me into his office. He asked me all sorts of questions, and I… I…" Freckle's eyes were starting to water again. Freckle was acting too much like a baby— crying every five minutes.

"Freckle, Freckle. It's alright. What happened? Can you tell me what happened?"

"I told him everything. He said he's gonna investigate Lackadaisy tomorrow, and he said he was gonna arrest everyone there if he found any alcohol. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin everything, but I had to keep lying, and I wasn't really d—"

"It's okay, Freckle. You said he was going to arrest everyone if he found alcohol?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Okay. So what does he know about it then?"

"I told him about the hatch in the garage and the secret door in the café. I told him about Mordecai, too. He told me not to tell anyone about what he was gonna do."

"Well, thank you, Freckle, for telling me. Now, it's not exactly what I wanted to do, but I'm gonna sort all of this out now."

"No! He'll arrest you. Just stay here— don't go back."

"Listen, Freckle. It's all under control. We'll get it figured out. We're gonna go back there, and if we're lucky, we'll be able to catch Miss M. before she makes it to bed. Then we can all figure something out so that _none _of us get arrested, okay?"

"I don't wanna go back." Freckle had blinked the tears out of his eyes and was emotionally stable again.

"Okay. You can stay home and try to actually get some sleep, okay? I'll go back and let everyone know and we'll come up with a plan."

"Alright."

"Alright. Good. Now go back to bed! You shouldn't be staying up this late!"

"Okay. Come back as soon as you're finished."

"Can do. Night."

"Night." Rocky began to roll the window back up as Freckle made his way back into the house. Once up, Rocky scooted his way into the driver's seat and started the car up. He was in way over his head now, huh? Rocky turned the headlights on and started down the street. He would be lucky if he got any more sleep that night.


	21. Planning

Rocky parked his car outside the café and hastily made his way to the garage. He made his way into the establishment through the garage and continued rushing through the tunnels. He could hear voices echoing down the halls. As he approached the storeroom, he could tell exactly who they came from. He turned a corner and saw the storeroom door. In front of it was Viktor, who was yelling through it at Mordecai. That was just great. Mitzi was stood to the side, watching and waiting to see if she could split them apart. She clearly wanted to finish this up and get back to the establishment. At this time of night, there would probably only be stragglers left.

"That doesn't mean anything!" Viktor shouted at the door.

"I beg to differ," Mordecai's muffled voice came from behind the door.

"You're lucky I'm injured. I should come in there and break you."

"You couldn't do anything of the sort even if you _weren't _injured."

"The only reason I didn't kill you before vas because of your pistol. If I came in there now I'd destroy you."

"Not with the holes in your chest."

Rocky snapped back to attention as he stopped paying attention to their argument. He shuffled his way past Viktor over to Mitzi. Her eyes darted over to the movement and she noticed Rocky there.

"What are you doing back here?" Mitzi asked, being partially drowned out by the continued yelling.

"I've gotta tell you all something," Rocky raised his voice.

"Hold on a minute, sweetheart." Mitzi took a step towards the storeroom, "You two, cut it out!"

"So getting kidnapped takes skill?" Viktor continued, completely ignoring Mitzi.

"So must getting shot, then?" Mordecai retorted.

"Boys! Stop it already!" Mitzi shouted.

"Bring that up again and I shoot you through the door," Viktor warned.

"Revenge, then? Is that your only goal?" Mordecai wondered.

"Viktor, Mordecai— stop arguing!" Mitzi added to the cacophony of voices. This wasn't working.

"We're all gonna get arrested tomorrow!" Rocky yelled. That shut everyone up. Mitzi and Viktor both turned around to look at Rocky and the shouting match had ceased.

"Vhat?" Viktor asked.

"Dominic, the guy who's been hanging around here the past week, found out about Lackadaisy and is gonna come investigate tomorrow. He's a federal agent. And he said he was gonna arrest everyone if he found any alcohol when he investigated," Rocky explained.

"... How do you know this?" Mitzi wondered.

"Uh, well, Freckle told me. He was with Dominic earlier today."

"Well, so then what? How are we supposed to stop the Feds?"

"Well, I, um, don't really know."

Mitzi sat down on some crates that were still just sitting around the storeroom. "So the Feds know all about this place?"

"Yeah."

"So what can we even do? If the Feds already know about all this, what could we even do to keep ourselves out of jail and this place under wraps?"

"Vhat? Don't be so negative." Viktor said, "Vhat else does Dominic know?"

"He knows about the entrance in the garage and the entrance in the café. And uh, he knows about Mordecai," Rocky continued.

"Knows what about me?" Mordecai asked.

"Uh, I guess that you exist. Probably that you're a Marigold, too."

"Well, that's not good," Mitzi added. "So this guy knows all about this place, knows how to get in, and that we're housing someone from a _different _speakeasy."

"Yeah," Rocky reaffirmed.

"So what do we do then? Board up all the entrances?" Mitzi facetiously suggested.

"Well, that's not a terrible idea. What if we closed off the entrances? Freckle said he'd start arresting if he found alcohol. He can't find alcohol if there's no way down here, right?"

"...Ya. Makes sense. Could vork," Viktor nodded.

"Well, how are we supposed to do to close them off?" Mitzi continued.

"Close secret door from the inside; nail or glue the hatch shut."

"Okay, well, do you think you can disengage the mechanism? If it moves or gives at all, then it'll be obvious."

"I could help with that," Mordecai suggested.

"How can we trust you? You work for our rivals, remember?"

"It's not like I have anything else to do. And more importantly, if they arrest you all, they'll surely arrest me, too."

Mitzi stood up. "Alright, then maybe this will work. I can ma—"

"But what do we do about Mordecai once we're done?" Rocky glanced over towards the storeroom door.

The other two followed Rocky's gaze and looked to the door as if Mordecai would just be standing there, giving some sort of clue. "What do you mean?" Mordecai questioned.

"Yeah, what are you talking about?" Mitzi wondered.

"Well, if we close off the entrances, then he'll be locked down here until we reopen everything. Mordecai could be locked down here by himself the whole day. And if we need to keep it closed for longer, then he could be down here for days," Rocky explained.

"Ah, I see. Yes, what about me?" Mordecai asked.

"Well, we're not gonna just let you go. Sorry to disappoint you if you thought that. So, well, you'd have to stay somewhere else," Mitzi thought.

"I vill keep him," Viktor stated.

"Uh, I'm not sure that's a good idea, Viktor." Mitzi said, "Rocky, maybe you could watch him for the time being?"

"Uh, yeah, I could do that," Rocky agreed.

"Good. Just make sure he doesn't run off."

"Alright."

"You know, I don't exactly appreciate being treated like a rowdy pet," Mordecai grumbled.

"Well, I'll court the last few people out of here, and then you three get to work, okay?" Mitzi instructed, ignoring Mordecai, "Just make sure you don't lock yourselves down here." The two boys nodded in agreement before Mitzi turned and went to go do as she said. She stopped for a moment and added, "And make sure you three bring all those crates of booze still in the garage down here. Don't leave anything up there." She then disappeared down the hall.

Viktor began towards the garage. Viktor turned and said, "Help vith the crates vhen you're done vith the door."

"Got it," Rocky smiled. Viktor turned back to where he was walking and walked behind a corner. Rocky waited a moment, collecting himself and his plans before he walked over towards the storeroom door. He took the key that was now just regularly left sitting on top of the lock and unlocked the door. After a moment, he set the key back where it was and pulled open the door, revealing Mordecai.

"So, how has your night been?" Rocky asked.

"It most certainly could have been better. But I'm not exactly in a position to decide such a thing," Mordecai quipped, grabbing something off of one of the shelves inside the storeroom. The two started towards the door they were going to lock shut.

"I guess not."

"It's Viktor. I don't see why he needs to drag himself here just to sling insults and feel in the right." Mordecai kept looking ahead, not even batting an eye towards Rocky, although he did talk with his hands a bit, gesturing somewhat angrily. "But I shouldn't talk about it now."

"Well, if you want to, you can."

"No, I'm fine. Forget I even started talking about it."

The two made their way into the establishment and waited for a couple of minutes as they waited for the last few stragglers to clear out through the very door they planned to block up. As they waited, the two sat at stools by the bar and conversed— something about drinking. Once they had all left, as had Mitzi, they got up and climbed the stairs. Once they made it to the door, Mordecai got to work. He was inspecting the mechanisms that made the door work, carefully looking into it, as well as pulling out some removable panel, which let him get a good look at it all. After seeing all of it and putting the panel back, he pulled out a couple of small tools and began disabling it.

"Hey, where'd you get those from?" Rocky wondered.

"I brought them with me when I first gave this place a visit, when I was kidnapped. I would have picked my way out of that storeroom if I was able to reach the locks from the inside."

"Well, I guess as long as you know what you're doing." Rocky rubbed the back of his neck as he stood over Mordecai, who had dropped to one knee and was making quick work of the door.

"Of course I know what I'm doing. This type of lock would normally be a terrible pain, but with the goal of keeping the door locked, it works perfectly. I just need to pick it and get these wafers to drop into the construction keying holes, then it can't be opened non-destructively."

"Oh, yeah, of course. That's obvious now." Rocky elbowed Mordecai's shoulder.

Mordecai continued working, and after only a few moments, Mordecai stood up with a sigh, putting away his tools. "It should be completely locked, then." Rocky reached out to the latch that usually opened the door and gave it a pull. Attempting to open the door didn't work, and it stayed completely locked. It didn't even budge.

"Well, well, well. Good work there, Mordecai."

"Thank you."

"But, now we've gotta help Viktor get those crates downstairs."

The two made their way back down the stairs and through the length of tunnels. Rocky was sure to turn off the lights he passed by as they made their way over. Then they went back up some more stairs and into the garage. Viktor was gathering some things together as he noticed the two enter.

Together, Mordecai and Rocky brought the remaining few crates down the stairs and into the tunnels. They were stacked up in a small sort of cove to the side of the straightaway, which was a bit less than a hundred yards down the hall. Rocky managed alright, having had to move some of these exact crates not too long ago. Mordecai had difficulty in moving the relatively heavy crates while also not messing up his clothes. But he figured it out quickly and contributed in relocating the alcohol.

Once all of the crates were moved, the two boys took a break, sitting on some non-illicit boxes sitting against one of the walls. Viktor made his way over to the hatch and began to lock it closed. Rocky wasn't really paying attention, but by the time he looked over, Viktor had managed to get it shut. Viktor tried to pull it open, but couldn't get a good grip, nor could he open it— not even an inch. With that, Viktor put his tools away and walked over to one of the cars parked in the garage. Mordecai and Rocky watched on with curiosity. Without a word, Viktor got into the driver's seat and drove the car closer to the corner where the hatch was. He leaned his head out of the window and instructed, "Move those out of the vay." He pointed at the few boxes that were in the corner. With a sigh, Rocky got up and complied.

Once those few boxes had been moved, Viktor reversed over the hatch and into the corner, although he was careful to avoid a collision with the wall. Now, the hatch had a parked car above it, and it was obvious what Viktor had been trying to do.

"It's closed now," Viktor stated.

"Are you gonna be able to reopen it when this is all done with?" Rocky asked.

"Ya. Can be done."

With that, it was done; the speakeasy had been locked shut. The three cleared out of the garage, and Viktor made sure to lock the garage up. Viktor made his way around the corner and went off wherever he was going. And so, they could leave.

The darkness of night was now starting to, unfortunately, give way to the beginning of dusk. The sky was turning from pitch black to a sort of twilight, with the sun behind the horizon, yet with it clearly approaching sunrise. Rocky could even hear birds, which meant that they had clearly taken too long and were going to sleep horribly.

"Well, let's figure out what to do with you, then. And maybe if we're lucky, both of us can actually get a bit of sleep," Rocky yawned, turning away from the sky to Mordecai. This was going to be a long day.


	22. Favor

"Okay," Rocky yawned, "let's try and get some sleep before the sun rises. What do you think?" Rocky looked briefly to his right, to Mordecai in the passenger seat of his car.

"That would be nice," Mordecai muttered.

"Alright then. Only hitch is that I don't really have anywhere for you to sleep."

Mordecai sighed. "I've been sleeping on a cold, hard floor for the past few days— anything you have will suffice."

"No, I mean, I have nothing to offer. I sleep back there." Rocky pointed to the back seat with his thumb. Mordecai looked back for a moment. His immediate thoughts were annoyance at the messy state of things back there.

"Oh. Is there somewhere else?"

"Well, I can't just let you off somewhere for you to sleep alone; Miss M. would kill me if she knew I did that. And I don't exactly trust you to not, just, leave in the middle of the night. So options are limited."

Rocky probably was right in that regard; Mordecai probably would just leave if he was given the option. "Well? Do you actually have any ideas?"

"I do have something… but I'm not sure how he'd feel about it."

"Who?"

After a minute or two more of driving, Rocky parked the car outside of his aunt's house. He stepped out and went around the car, opening the door for Mordecai.

"I'm capable of opening a door myself, you know." Mordecai grumbled, "Anyway, whose house is this? It's certainly not yours."

"It's my aunt's. Freckle's living here. Here's what I've got in mind— I'll sleep in my car, and I'll have you sleep in Freckle's room. Freckle's probably not gonna be happy, but there's not really anywhere else for you to sleep, so hopefully, he'll understand. That way I'm not just leaving you alone. But, we're going to have to leave pretty early, cause my aunt can't find out that you're there, so I'll probably go inside and wake you up not long after the sun rises. Okay?" Rocky explained, leaning on his car.

"Uh, sure." Mordecai was only moderately paying attention. He was tired and didn't much care about the specifics of Rocky's plan. He'd sleep in the house and would wake up early, sure.

"Alright then, let's go. And be quiet." The two then began towards the house. Rocky carefully opened the front door, which squeaked open— right on cue. Rocky guided Mordecai up the stairs, cringing every time one of those old stairs creaked with the weight of a step. But, luckily, the two managed to make their way upstairs. Rocky stopped outside of Freckle's door.

"Hold on a second," Rocky turned and whispered to Mordecai as he knocked quietly against the door before stepping in.

Freckle shited in his bed and sat up slowly. "Rocky?" Freckle mumbled, rubbing his eyes, "What's going on?"

"Well, I've got a favor to ask of you, Freckle, alright?"

"What is it?"

"Alright. So, I've fixed everything up at the Lackadaisy, okay? Everything you were worried about? It's fine now, okay? But… I'm gonna need just one thing from you tonight and we can put this whole thing behind us."

"What is it?" Rocky had yet to answer his question.

"...Would it be okay if someone slept in here with you tonight? Just for tonight. And they're probably gonna leave before you even wake up."

"Who?"

Rocky bit his lip and grimaced, "Mordecai?"

"Mordecai? Why does he need to sleep with me?"

"Not— not _with _you. That… No, sleeping, just, on the floor or something. I can't have him sleep in the car with me, cause he could run off, and I need someone to at least be in the same _room _as him so that he doesn't run off. If you just let him sleep here and keep in mind that he's here and not supposed to leave, that would really put me at ease and would make it really easy to get through the rest of the night. And, again, it's just for the night."

"He doesn't have… weapons or anything?"

"No. He has lockpicking tools, I think? No, those aren't weapons."

"Well, do you think you could take them from him anyways? I don't wanna get stabbed while I'm sleeping."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Rocky began to pull back through the doorway into the hall, but stopped and looked back at Freckle. "Thanks, by the way. I appreciate it."

"No problem," Freckle replied as Rocky pulled back into the hallway.

Rocky stepped to the side and turned to speak to Mordecai. "So?" Mordecai asked.

"Well, it's gonna work out. I'm just gonna take your lockpicking tools for now, cause Freckle's nervous about them," Rocky explained.

"Ugh. Sure." Mordecai dug into his pockets and retrieved a couple of small tools. Rocky held out his hand and Mordecai placed them into his palm.

"Alright. Come here, then." Rocky led Mordecai into Freckle's room. Freckle seemed to be staring at Mordecai as soon as Freckle noticed him come in.

Rocky spoke. "Okay, so, is there anywhere specific you want Mordecai to sleep?"

"On the floor is fine," Freckle answered.

"Alright. Do you want a pillow or blanket or something, Mordecai?" Rocky asked as Mordecai surveyed the floor and judged an area to sleep on.

"Oh," Mordecai snapped to attention, "well, it would be nice to have."

"There's one on the floor in the closet there. Help yourself," Freckle said. His comment seemed to be laden with contempt that Mordecai picked up on and immediately remembered that he wasn't the biggest fan of Freckle. Mordecai opened said closet and reached down, grabbing a small, dusty pillow off of the floor.

"Well, that's sorted then. I'm gonna go pass out now, if you don't mind. Night, both of you." Rocky shuffled out of the bedroom.

"Night, Rocky," Freckle responded. The door was carefully closed by Rocky as he finished speaking.

Mordecai got down onto the floor and got comfortable, resting his head onto the cool pillow. He shifted around some before quickly falling asleep, despite the hard floor or lack of blankets or sheets. But, it was certainly better than his sleeping conditions over the past however many days, and he was arguably more tired than he had been in any of the previous days in captivity.

Freckle lied back down and was tired enough that he could probably fall asleep again, but he didn't. Not yet. Instead, he kept an eye on Mordecai.

Mordecai wasn't really a good guy. He'd heard about what he'd done. He hadn't exactly been a force of good to other people, nor had he been one to Viktor. He was cold and emotionless. Mordecai was psychopathic and violent. Freckle didn't really like thinking about him. Not only did he have reasons to be afraid of him, but he was afraid of being him. Freckle was a few years and a few murders away from maybe being like Mordecai, and that was entirely unnerving, disheartening, even. Freckle did his best to challenge the idea that he was like Mordecai, but it felt too true. He remembered some of the things he'd already done since Ivy invited him to the Lackadaisy, and it sent a shiver up his spine. From where he was sitting, it just seemed like he was a slightly younger Mordecai. He didn't want to have anything to do with Mordecai. He didn't want to be similar to him, nor did he want to really be sharing a room with him.

Not to mention, Mordecai was getting his cousin to fall in love with him. Rocky had already admitted to Freckle that he had feelings for Mordecai. And it showed in how Rocky talked about Mordecai, and how Rocky talked _to _him. Rocky was closer to Mordecai than he reasonably should be. And now, here he was. The guy who had killed people and had disabled Viktor and had stolen from his old friends and had gotten his cousin's attention was sleeping on the floor in his room, less than ten feet away from him. He couldn't even really state his exact feelings about Mordecai. He had a strange resentment, distrust, and disgust for him that he couldn't exactly put into to word in his mind.

Freckle had to ignore his instincts to curse Mordecai out or to argue with him and try and show him that he was an awful person— so he could clearly distance himself from the things that Mordecai had done and the kind of person that Mordecai was. He even thought about, and quickly blocked out the thought of, maybe even using this opportunity to get rid of Mordecai. But he ignored all of the impulses he had. Mordecai was awful, sure, but he had to just suffer through this and surely things would be alright soon. So, Freckle's thoughts started to drift away from scornfully looking down upon Mordecai, and before long he had fallen asleep, having simply stopped worrying about all of that.

Mordecai woke up to Rocky, on one knee, over him, quietly shaking him awake. He opened his eyes saw the sun coming through the window. It shined directly into his eyes. Rocky blocked some of it. He had stopped shaking Mordecai awake, but left his left hand on his shoulder, as if offering some sort of support. Mordecai felt around on the floor for his glasses and once he found them, he sat up. Rocky pulled his hand back and Mordecai rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before putting his glasses on.

"Let's go," Rocky whispered.

"Mhm," Mordecai mumbled. Rocky stood up and offered his hand out, for Mordecai to pull himself to his feet. Mordecai yawned and grabbed it. He stumbled to his feet and slipped said feet into his shoes, which had also been set to the side.

Rocky set the pillow Mordecai had used back into the closet as Mordecai woke up and readied himself. Then, the two quietly left Freckle's room. They quietly, yet quickly, descended the stairs and left through the front door.

Outside was nice. The sun wasn't far above the horizon, and all of the birds were already chirping just about as loudly as all of them could. The sky was rather clear, which may have contributed to the somewhat warm, humid air. It had been a while since Mordecai had both woken up this early and actually appreciated the environment around him. Usually, when he had to wake up this early, he had little to no time to do such things.

The two hastily got into the car, although waited for a moment or two as they both got themselves together. "You know, your hair is a mess," Rocky joked. Mordecai seemed unamused, although his hair _was _a mess.

"Yours isn't much better."

"Oh, hold on." Rocky adjusted his position and tried to see himself in the reflection off of Mordecai's glasses. He began to fix his hair before Mordecai pushed up his glasses.

"So, back to the café then?"

Rocky stopped trying to fix his hair and grabbed the steering wheel. "No, I don't think so. I mean, Dominic knows all about how you work for the Marigolds, so I'm not sure it's a good idea to flaunt you about there. Besides, I rang Miss M. before I woke you up, and there'll be enough hands there without us. She doesn't think we should show up, either. So…" Rocky started the car, "I was thinking we go get breakfast, maybe?" Rocky turned back to face Mordecai and gauge his reaction.

Mordecai hadn't really been having breakfast over the past few days, and some proper, prepared breakfast sounded rather pleasant. "That's not a bad idea."

"Alright then. Let me know if you have any places in mind or you see someplace good." Rocky began to drive down the road and towards the city. At the very least, Mordecai might get to be out and about for a while— a clear luxury as of the last few days. Today could be nice.


	23. Brunch

Viktor was in the garage, doing his best to seem busy. He was working on something on the underside of the car he had parked over the hatch in the garage. It was partially to keep anyone from seeing or getting to the hatch, but it was also partly because there was actually something that needed to be worked on. He'd just about given up on the whole 'relaxing and recovering at home' thing and was back to work as usual at this point. Ivy thought that he was fine as long as he didn't do anything too violent or strenuous, such as fist-fighting Mordecai again, so he had the required blessing. Meanwhile, Mitzi and Ivy were working in the café, serving customers and such. Mitzi didn't really need to be there; Ivy could handle things by herself, but Mitzi wanted to hang around and make sure things went well. Help Ivy out with the café, but also make sure she didn't slip up regarding Dominic.

It was a bit before noon when Dominic and some other officers showed up. They were all dressed nicely, and nothing about them seemed to give away that they were basically undercover cops. Dominic was leading the charge, so to speak. He sat with the others at an unoccupied booth and pretended to be occupied amongst themselves, although their occasional sideways glances at Mitzi and Ivy showed that they clearly weren't. To be fair, Mitzi and Ivy were doing the same. Both were suspicious and watching the other, but both pretended they weren't.

It wasn't until Mitzi finished serving someone at the counter that she swung around to the booth with some menus. She dispersed them and began to speak with the group.

"Hello! How is everyone doing today?" Mitzi asked, pleasantly. This was it. It was showtime.

"Good, good," Dominic answered for the four sat at the table.

"Well, that's good to hear. My name's Mitzi, and I'll be helpin' y'all out today. Would you like something to drink?"

"Just wa—"

"A lemonade?" the guy across from Dominic interrupted. Dominic paused for a moment, then deflated a tad, before just pointing to the guy next to him.

"Oh, uh, just a coffee, dear," he responded.

"Tea," the next said.

"Water," Dominic answered with a sigh.

"Alright, I'll be back with those in a minute," Mitzi smiled. She walked behind the counter and began to get together the various drinks. Nothing wrong so far.

As she gathered together the drinks, she occasionally eyed the table, watching the men and seeing if she could overhear their conversation. They didn't really seem to be saying anything, although they seemed to notice her gaze.

Mitzi started setting the glasses down on the table. As she did, she asked, "So, do any of y'all need more time to decide on something to eat?"

"I think we're ready," Dominic responded, looking down into the menu.

The four proceeded to order various foods. Dominic ordering a sandwich and grits, while the other three each ordered some sort of breakfast food. Mitzi took their orders and was about to go back behind the counter and get them together when Dominic spoke.

"You're not too busy, right? You wouldn't mind talking with us for just a minute or two, would you?" Dom smiled.

Mitzi replied, trying to get out of that, "Well, lots of breakfast folks are still here, and lunch people are here now, so it's—"

"Come on now, don't be shy. We've got a lot we'd like to talk to you about." Dom smirked smugly.

Mitzi thought for a quick second. She would prefer to interact with Dominic and his lackeys as little as possible, but if she did that, it was possible that it could backfire and they could use it to their advantage. They could cite it as evidence that she was hiding something, or as an opportunity to search around for clues of alcohol pedaling. She didn't really have any idea as to what extent these people were sleazy or what to watch out for, so she had no clue if that was a real danger. Also, if she didn't talk to them, they'd probably rope Ivy into talking with them, and while she trusted and appreciated Ivy, she'd prefer her handling this over Ivy. So, she passed on the table's order to Ivy, letting Ivy know to prepare it for her, and then she went back over to Drago's table.

Viktor was lying under the car, tools peeking out from the underside of the car. The garage door was open, letting in a light breeze. While keeping the garage door shut would be a surefire way of preventing anyone from snooping in the garage, when it was closed it got warm in the garage _quickly. _Fresh air was also just nice, but that wasn't really here nor there. Besides, Viktor was sure that no one was going to get past him; no one was going to figure anything out that Viktor didn't want them to.

And speak of the devil. A small platoon of rather conspicuous, aimless guys strolled around towards the opening to the garage. Viktor leaned his head to the side and watched them as they approached. They stood apprehensively outside, quietly discussing with each other for a moment before walking into the garage, not noticing Viktor under the car. Judging by their sheepishness, Viktor thought it would be easy to simply intimidate them out of the garage.

"Vhat are you doing?" Viktor asked, raising his voice as he slid out from under the car. The men were startled, one of them physically jumping.

"Just looking," one of them said, almost instinctively.

"Looking? At vhat?" Viktor stood up, brandishing a heavy metal tool as he did. He made sure that the intruders knew that he had it. He walked a bit closer to them.

"Just, uh…"

"At this garage!" another jumped in.

"It's a nice garage," the third uneasily smiled.

"Sure. This is private property," Viktor stated.

"Oh! Is that so?" the second responded.

"Ya," Viktor grunted.

"Well, you can see how we made such a mistake, you having the door open and all. Not to mention, it's such a nice garage here— we could have easily mistaken it for a park!" the second explained.

Viktor wasn't amused, nor remotely convinced by their argument. "Vell, you looked. Now go," Viktor commanded.

"O—okay!" the first replied, beginning to rush out back through the way they came. The second, continuing to stare Viktor down, grabbed them by their collar and pulled them back into the conversation.

"Well, we'd really like to look around some more, Viktor. What do you think?" the second asked with a slight smirk.

Viktor was thrown off for a second. They knew his name? It wasn't totally unbelievable, given their occupation, but Viktor hadn't anticipated that. "No."

"Well, perhaps we could just have a nice conversation? Perhaps talking about what work you're doing on your car there?" the second gestured to the car.

"No." Viktor noticed the third looking intently around the garage, pausing to look at every box or crate in the garage. He also seemed to be interested in the car. It could just be that they were desperately trying to find something, or they could have already caught on. Either way, these people had to leave.

"Oh, come on. Is an open garage door not an invitation to polite conversation?" The third person tapped the second on the shoulder and somewhat subtly pointed to a box in the corner. Viktor knew for a fact that it just contained cans of food. They didn't know anything.

"It's not. Leave."

"I think we should leave. He seems dangerous," the first whispered to the second. It was loud enough for Viktor to pick up on.

"No. We need to figure this out or Dom'll have our heads," the second quickly whispered back. "Why not, Viktor? What's keeping you?" He spoke at a normal talking volume again.

"Cause I am busy. And this is private. And I don't vant you here. Now leave," Viktor spoke with agency, secretly revelling in how he was simply undoing the first person.

The first guy tapped on the shoulder of the second. The second's shoulders slumped and he sighed. "I suppose we shouldn't impede, then. Sorry for the intrusion." He continued to look over at the crate of food.

"Go," Viktor demanded.

"Yes, of course. Goodbye!" the second waved as the first just about dragged them out of the garage. The third followed behind. Within a few moments, all three had left the garage and disappeared from Viktor's sight. Well, that was even easier than Viktor had originally thought.

"So, how are you doing today? Mitzi, was it?" Dom asked as Mitzi stood by the table.

"Yeah, Mitzi. I'm doin' well today. And what was your name, hun? I don't think I caught it," Mitzi responded.

"Dominic. Feel free to call me Dom." He reached out his hand for a handshake. Mitzi did just that, shaking his hand. Mitzi had to admit, he had a sort of pleasant, friendly way about him.

"Alright then, Dom; what was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Oh, well, I just wanted you to ask about this business of yours. It's a great place, let me just say."

"Thank you. What did you wanna ask?" This is what Mitzi had to steel herself for.

"Well, I've heard that there's a band that plays here. Where do they play?"

"Oh, they play wherever there's space in here. Whatever works for them and isn't in the way." Judging by the look on Dom's face, Mitzi may have said something that discouraged him; he didn't look nearly as confident now.

"Sure, sure. What's that garage used for?"

"Cars. And some things that we need for the café."

"What's that Viktor fellow's story? Does he work for you?"

And now it was certainly starting to feel like an interrogation. And if Dom was working with the police, then surely he knew about Viktor's past run-ins with the law, so she couldn't lie about that and get it past him. "My late husband helped him out when Viktor was younger— helped him sort out some delinquency of his. He felt indebted to my husband for what he'd done and, well, Viktor applied for a job here. He's been here a few years, now." Mitzi tried not to think too much about some of the things she had just said.

"If you don't mind me asking, what does Viktor do around here? Personally, I haven't seen him around."

Mitzi cleared her throat to give her just another moment to scrap together a lie. "Well, he helps out with stocking and unloading shipments of cans and the like. He's been dealin' with a recent injury, though, and has been taking time off to recover. Lord knows he deserves it— he works himself to death sometimes."

Dom tried not to look disappointed again. "Ah, I see. Where are the other employees that work here, though? I've spoken with a few of them. Rocky, Calvin— where are they today?"

"Well, Rocky isn't set to come in today. And as for the latter, he called in sick today, so we're a bit short on manpower. But you don't need to worry about that, Dom."

Dominic subtly smiled. "Alright, I won't. But what about the other guy? The dark guy in the suit? What's his—" Ivy stumbled a bit and dropped a plate onto the ground, resulting in several turned heads, including Mitzi.

"Excuse me for a moment," Mitzi said.

"I'm just curious as to—"

"I'll just be a moment." Mitzi walked off, back behind the counter to go help with the broken plate. Mitzi felt relieved. It sounded like Dom was about to ask about Mordecai, which wasn't something Mitzi felt like diving into and explaining away right now. Ivy had practically saved Mitzi with that plate. Mitzi would have to remember to thank her for breaking that plate later.

Mitzi had told Ivy to keep working on the food as Mitzi cleaned up the ceramic shards. And by the time she had collected and disposed of all of them, Ivy had finished Dominic's table's meals. Mitzi carefully grabbed the plates and walked them over to the table, setting them down in front of their respective orderers.

"Sorry about that, y'all. But how's everything looking?" Mitzi asked in an overly friendly, hospitable voice. Everyone murmured approval over each other in a quiet sort of amalgamation of voices. Mitzi waited until Dominic had a mouthful of food and then, "Good. And Dom, was there anything else you wanted to ask about?"

Dominic looked annoyed, an apparently common occurrence, and quickly swallowed his food. "No, it's fine. We're good. Thank you, Mitzi."

Mitzi walked off with a genuine smile. She was done and seemed to pass whatever test Dominic was trying to catch her with. Mitzi was sure to give Ivy those thanks.

Not too long after they had started eating, they had finished. Dominic paid for the group's meals and all of them left. The other three seemed happy with their food and were either unaware or didn't care about Mitzi or any sort of investigation. Dominic, however, just looked annoyed— disgruntled. And without any sort of ado, they walked out of the café and drove away. Mitzi breathed a sigh of relief. That was that done with.


	24. Diner

"What about this one?" Rocky pointed to a small diner down the road. He was driving around looking for places to get breakfast. This was maybe the third place Rocky suggested. Mordecai had turned down the other two, although Rocky had to side with him, really— they hadn't looked particularly enticing or pristine.

"...It looks alright," Mordecai answered.

"Does that mean you wanna eat there?" Rocky turned to look at Mordecai.

"Not necessarily."

"Well, do you wanna eat there or not? I'm gonna pass it in a second."

"Sure." With that, Rocky pulled the car aside and parked the car along the road. The two got out of the car and made their way over to the diner. Rocky opened the door for Mordecai. He gave Rocky a slight nod in acknowledgment before heading inside. Rocky followed. The two found a booth in the surprisingly somewhat empty restaurant and sat down.

"You're apparently really good at finding a place to eat, huh?" Rocky noted, observing the inside of the diner.

"Hm?" Mordecai looked up from the table; he was sweeping a few crumbs off of it.

"Well, you found someplace that's not busy at all and actually looks pretty good. With luck, the food'll be good, too."

"I mean, if I did have some sort of ability as you're proposing, I might have found a restaurant that's a bit tidier." Mordecai swept crumbs from the booth's seat.

"You seem to be doing an okay job cleaning it up."

"I'd prefer to not have to."

A waiter came to the table and gave the two men menus. They ordered drinks— a coffee for Rocky and black tea for Mordecai, and the waiter left them to decide on food.

"So… what do you think's going on over at the Little Daisy right now?" Rocky asked before setting down his menu, apparently having already decoded on his breakfast.

"I don't imagine much." Mordecai still was still looking around the menu for something.

"Well, the whole investigation's happening right now. What do you think they're doing? Do you think we did enough last night to keep them off of us?"

"I wouldn't know."

"What do you think about it though? I mean, do you think they're gonna figure anything out?"

"They're not going to get through that shelf in the café nor the hatch in the garage unless they brute force their way in; neither of them seemed especially obvious or accessible. As for someone accidentally telling one of them what they want to hear, I don't exactly have any convictions. I suppose your acquaintances should just do what they can and hope for the best, and I don't know if that will work or not." Mordecai set down the menu.

"Yeah, I guess. But, what do you think would happen if they don't find anything, though? Would they just keep looking? Would they drop it?"

"They probably wouldn't stop looking for something damning, but beyond that, I don't know. I don't have extreme amounts of knowledge pertaining to the inner workings and policies of the Treasury."

"I know, but you know a lot, so maybe you—"

"Here's your coffee, sir," the waiter said, setting down a cup of coffee in front of Rocky.

"Oh, thank you," Rocky smiled.

"And your tea, sir," the waiter added, setting down tea.

"Thank you," Mordecai replied.

"Have you decided on what to eat?" the waiter asked.

"Yeah, we're ready, right, Mordecai?" Rocky responded.

"Yes," Mordecai stated.

"Alright then, what'll it be?" the waiter began.

"I'll have the pancakes. Oh, and with extra syrup, please," Rocky requested.

"Alright… and you?" the waiter turned towards Mordecai.

"Do you have rye bread?" Mordecai asked.

"Uh… yes." the waiter racked his brain, "We have rye bread."

"Splendid. Two slices of rye toast and three eggs, over easy." Mordecai grabbed Rocky's menu, paired it with his, and handed the both back to the waiter once they had Mordecai's order.

"Great! We'll have that out soon." And after a moment, the waiter left.

"What is your thing with pancakes?" Mordecai wondered.

"I don't know. They're good! Pancakes, syrup, sugar— you know?" Rocky answered.

"Those broadly overlap." Mordecai took a sip of his tea, having blown on the clearly boiling hot liquid for a moment.

"Yeah, I guess they do." Rocky took a small sip of his coffee. He winced. "Too dark. Needs cream."

"Tea is what you need."

"Hmm, I'd have to disagree with you there, Mordecai. Is your tea putting caffeine directly into your bloodstream?" Rocky held up his cup a bit for a moment, presenting it to Mordecai

"Yes, it's black tea. Plenty of caffeine here, as well." Mordecai did the same as Rocky with his cup.

"Oh, well, to each his own."

"Indeed." Both took sips of their respective beverages, and the air was silent for a short time.

"Well, are you glad to finally be out of the café for a bit?"

"I suppose. I'm certainly glad to be out of that _closet _you've been keeping me in," Mordecai grumbled.

"That wasn't my decision, you know. If Mitzi wasn't so paranoid about you, I wouldn't have you in there. Hell, maybe you could stop being a hostage, even."

"Well, I suppose I ought to be thankful there's at least one person not simply wanting to lock me up and throw away the key."

"Yeah, I guess I… what about those Marigolds? I mean, they keep breaking in trying to get you back. Surely you must have some sort of friendship or pact of mutual assistance or something over there."

"Ugh, no. I can hardly stand some of them. Two in particular are simply unbearable. Not to mention, Asa's not easy nor enjoyable to work with. They're most likely not trying to get me back due to some sort of amicable bond between us, but rather just out of necessity."

"What do you mean?"

"The Savoys and I have been doing a majority of the work over there, so Asa just wants me back so I can get back to work. Not that I mind working, but the people I work _with _are less than ideal."

"Savoys? Who's that?"

"Ah. Yes. The Savoys. Surely it was one of them that broke in the other night. One's a pugilist who thinks he's humorous, the other's a strange individual believing in witchcraft and swamp gods. Both have an unintelligible slur of sounds they call speech. Did you see either of those intruding?"

"Um, well, the one that came in sounded more like the first one. Looked sort of like he could've killed me with one good swing? Sounded… Cajun?"

"Yes, that's probably him. Don't worry about him too much. Or the other, for that matter. I wish I had the pleasure of being able to."

"Well, what's so wrong over there with the Marigolds? Is Asa really so terrible? Didn't you choose to go work there?"

"I didn't 'choose' so much as found it necessary. And, yes, Asa is simply unpleasant— overbearing. The workspace is rather… virulent, and the work itself still plenty dangerous in its own right. As it stands now, I'm enjoying the time away from it."

"I mean, that doesn't sound great; I feel bad for you having to deal with that. I hope something gets better over there. Also, you really enjoy it here more? Even being locked up in the storeroom?"

"I'm enjoying it more now _away _from the storeroom, but yes, I suppose so." Mordecai took a rather large sip of tea.

"Well, have you thought about coming back to work here?"

Mordecai struggled with his tea, clearly having swallowed his tea wrong, or perhaps burning the inside of his mouth. "No, I haven't thought about that."

"Maybe you should. I mean, we're doing much better now. We've got patrons again, and it's a lot more stable. Money's coming in more than it has in a while, from what I've heard. Not to mention, it's not as bad as the Marigolds, at least according to what you have to say."

"Perhaps things are going better over there than they have been recently, and I wish you the best of luck regarding that, but I don't think that means I'm going to switch employers. Even if I did, Mitzi would most certainly not trust me enough to take me back in. So, no, I don't think I'll start thinking about that. Only if and when something truly substantial changes will that have potential."

"Well, if that happens, I could maybe vouch for you. I mean, we've spent, well, hours talking to each other over this past week or so, when you think about it."

"Yes, I suppose we have. I should count myself lucky it was you and not Viktor or Mitzi doing the hostage management. Or that screaming girl."

"...Ivy?"

"Was that her name? Well, yes, I wouldn't prefer her yelling at me for a week."

"So you prefer me instead?"

"Over Ivy? Yes. In fact, you aren't as terrible as I initially expected you to be. You're certainly a very interesting character, and I should be lucky you're not as annoying as it seemed you might be when we first met."

Rocky quietly, light-heartedly laughed. "I appreciate the compliment. Not being annoying to you seems like a challenge."

"Not _as _annoying, not sans annoyance."

"Regardless, thanks," Rocky smiled.

"Yes." Mordecai took a sip of tea," And I should thank you for attending to me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you made sure I was able to shower and change clothes, not to mention actually eat and use proper facilities. Certainly, there are few at the café that have a high enough opinion of me that they would do such things. And with that, this hasn't been completely terrible."

"Oh, well, of course. I wasn't gonna let you starve in a closet."

"I can think of a couple who might have. Regardless, I appreciate that you've done that, truly."

"Yeah, yeah, of course. I'm glad you enjoyed the… eating and, uh, showers." Rocky took a big sip of coffee.

"Well, I didn't—"

"Here we go, now." the waiter was there at the table with two plates, "The pancakes were yours, right?" He set the stack of pancakes in front of Rocky.

"Oh, yes, thank you," Rocky replied.

"And the rye toast and eggs is yours," the waiter said, setting down his breakfast.

"Are. And thank you," Mordecai corrected.

The waiter seemed confused for a moment but digressed. "Well, I hope you two enjoy your meals!" He then walked off after Rocky had given a subtle nod.

At that point, the two began to eat. Rocky drenched his pancakes in syrup, and Mordecai cut into his eggs, using the toast to soak up some of the yolk that leaked out. They still had light conversation between them, between bites. Rocky and Mordecai both happened to stare at the other for short periods of time when the other wasn't paying attention. Their feelings towards the other had been intensified.

Once they had finished their food, Rocky paid; Mordecai still had no money on him. They stuck around for a few minutes after finishing though, figuring out what to do next.

"Well, it hasn't been that long, so Dominic's probably still there, harassing Ivy and Miss M. and all that. So, what do you think we should do for another hour or so?" Rocky wondered. Rocky didn't mention that the main reason he didn't want to go back to the café was that he wanted to spend some more time with Mordecai, away from the others.

"That's a good question. I don't want to stay here for another hour, and I don't exactly want to be in your car for an hour, so I'll rule those out," Mordecai explained, not offering any sort of dissent towards the idea of not going back to the café.

"No, that makes sense, I agree. And we can't go back to my aunt's house, in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't."

"Just thought I'd mention it." Rocky thought for a couple of seconds, "What do you think about going to a park?"

"As long as it isn't extremely hot and the park isn't completely crowded, I don't disagree."

"Oh, there's a park just a couple blocks away that's usually nearly desolate. We should go there!"

"I don't see why not." And with that, they left the diner. The two got back into Rocky's car and got back onto the road. It wouldn't be long before they were at the park, and hopefully it would be a pleasant time.


	25. Walk

It was a nice day out in the park. It was a little too humid for Mordecai's tastes, but it was somewhat cloudy out, and as such, wasn't too warm. The two were walking along a winding path that was shaded by trees on either side of the trail. It was even a bit cool in the shadows. And as Rocky had predicted, the park wasn't busy, which was good for the two, especially whenever Rocky decided to face Mordecai as they talked, walking backward down the path in front of the other— he wouldn't be walking into anyone. At least, hopefully.

"So, what do you think?" Rocky asked.

"About what?" Mordecai replied.

"The park? Is it good? You like it?"

"Yes, I suppose. It looks nice. It's a bit too muggy, though."

"You think so? I haven't really noticed."

Mordecai sort of hummed in acknowledgment. The two walked along silently for a minute or so, both taking in the nature. They were both pretending to be more interested in their surroundings than they truly were. It was certainly nice, but the main purpose was to avoid being caught looking at the other. Yet, despite both acting the same, somewhat awkward way, neither picked up on what that might have meant— or even that the other was acting just the same as them. And so, both of them tried to think of something to say to break up the silence.

"So, um, are you seeing anyone?" Rocky asked it like he was trying to make small talk, but really it was a question he had wanted to know the answer to for a bit now. And, well, was there going to be a better time to as kit than here, far away from anyone?

"You mean, at this moment? I see you." Oh no. Rocky was going to have to talk about this more than he initially wanted to. Surely, he wasn't playing stupid; he was too smart to play stupid like that. At least, he thought so. Rocky supposed he just hadn't heard that phrase before.

"No, uh, I mean are you dating anyone right now?"

"Oh. Now? No," Mordecai dryly, almost bitterly stated.

"Really? I wouldn't have thought that." Indeed, Rocky was actually surprised to hear that in a sense. But on the other hand, that was good news. Well, Rocky wasn't exactly a hundred percent sure about doing something like co—

"Why's that?" Mordecai questioned.

"Oh, well, it's just that, you know, you're a nice-looking guy; I'm sure that ladies would be falling over themselves for you." If Mordecai had any sort of realization of how Rocky felt, what he just said was a clear message. Maybe he shouldn't have said that, even.

Mordecai was silent for a moment, and Rocky began to panic a bit. He shouldn't have said that. That was too weird. Mordecai was probably weirded out by Rocky. Then, Mordecai said, "Well, thank you, I suppose. But, no, I'm not in any sort of relationship such as that— romantic or otherwise."

"Are you looking for someone?" That was probably even more perturbing to ask, but Rocky was genuinely curious; both for curiosity's sake and his own.

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious, is all." Rocky was probably starting to physically show his nervousness after all of this.

"No, I'm not looking for someone for such a relationship at the moment. I don't plan on looking, either."

"What, you mean, ever?"

Mordecai deliberated on that for a couple of seconds. "Perhaps. Certainly for some time, at least."

Both were silent for a moment. Rocky was thinking over Mordecai's answers as well as trying to keep the conversation going.

"Well, if you don't mind me asking… what about you and Viktor? Wasn't there… something between the two of you?" Rocky wondered.

"Perhaps I should have seen this coming. I've certainly been saying a lot of personal things about myself— it was really only a matter of time before this topic reared its head."

"Hey, if you don't want to say anything about it, I really don't mind. I don't—"

"No, I'll tell you about it. Besides, I would rather have you hear about it from me than from Mitzi or from Viktor himself. I have a suspicion that neither of them could keep their biases from changing the story." Mordecai cleared his throat. "So, yes, there was something between the two of us. It started when we were both simply business partners. We had both been hired by Atlas at about the same time, and we often worked together."

Mordecai adjusted his glasses. Rocky decided to face Mordecai, being engrossed in the story. That meant walking backwards down the path.

Mordecai continued, "Perhaps it was only a matter of time before we grew fond of each other, then. Regardless, we ended up together. It was quite nice for quite some time. We lived in the same tenement for a time. It was about when Atlas died that things started to sour some."

"Wait, did you live in the same place as Viktor lives in now?" Rocky asked.

"...Who's his neighbor?"

"This old woman. She speaks in… Polish, maybe?"

"Yes, that's the same place." Mordecai signalled for Rocky to adjust himself lest he back up straight into a tree. "Anyway, when Atlas died, the whole organization just about dissolved within a few weeks or so. I didn't want to stick around and see what that might mean for us, so I urged Viktor to quit with me. Of course, Viktor, the stubborn bastard he is, refused no matter what I said. So I left— both him and Lackadaisy."

"...What about his knees?"

"His kne— oh. Well, after he refused to quit with me, I was leaving. Viktor wouldn't let me. I warned him that I would shoot him if he didn't stop grabbing me. Viktor, obstinance and all, didn't. So, I shot him. I had to shoot him again so that I didn't get mauled by him." Mordecai stopped, and Rocky was silent. "I certainly didn't mean for it to go that poorly, Rocky. I didn't set out with the goal of kneecapping Viktor."

"No, no, of course not, Mordecai. I mean, from what you said, at least, it didn't sound like you wanted to do that. I would shoot Viktor if he were trying to maul me."

Mordecai sort of just acknowledged that with a quiet, "Yes."

Then it was quiet for a few moments, again.

"...So I've got another question, then," Rocky began.

"Yes?" Mordecai replied.

"So if you were in a relationship with Viktor, then that makes you…"

"Yes, yes. I'm gay. I thought that that story was evidence enough."

"Huh," Rocky mumbled.

"What? Do you care one way or another?"

"Oh, well, I… no, I. No. No, it doesn't matter. You can do whatever you want. That's great. And, uh, thanks for letting me know, I guess." That was certainly a very important tidbit. Mordecai was gay. Rocky was practically out of breath, from both excitement and continued nervousness. Maybe there was something to this whole thing after all.

"That's good." Mordecai readjusted his hat with his hand. It had slipped some. "You probably knew some of the story with Viktor already."

"Well, a little bit, yeah."

"Hmph. It's good to clear the air, then. Good to talk about, even."

"Is it?"

"It wasn't an ideal way to end a relationship. And it wasn't truly that long ago, so it's somewhat of a sore spot."

"Do you wanna talk about it more?"

Mordecai turned his head to the side and pushed his glasses back up. "No, that's fine." He turned back. "Did any of that story bother you? Anything I've said so far?"

"Well, I mean, _shooting _Viktor wasn't_ great, _but I kinda already knew about that. But otherwise, no. You having been in a relationship isn't _bothersome._"

"Then that's enough for now. I suppose I should just be glad that you've taken all of that as well as you did. I appreciate that."

"Oh, of course. Of course. That's… that's nice of you, Mordecai. You know, you're actually nicer than you let on."

"Perhaps. At this point, I suppose I should consider you something of an amicable acquaintance."

"Do… you mean a friend? Is that the word you're looking for?"

"I suppose you could simplify it to that, yes," Mordecai nodded.

"Well, forget about 'should'— _do _you consider me as such?" Rocky wondered.

"I don't see why not."

"Alright then. Don't be too enthusiastic, Mordecai," Rocky joked.

"I won't," Mordecai simply stated.

"Well, it was… whatever; I'm glad to hear that." Rocky scratched the back of his head for a second. Mordecai was gay. Of course, so was he. Mordecai wasn't in a relationship. Of course, neither was he. Mordecai considered Rocky a sort of friend. Of course, Rocky felt the same about him. Rocky was more or less enamored with Mordecai. Maybe Mordecai felt the same about him. It was bothering Rocky enough, and he felt confident enough, and there was reason enough, for him to try it out.

"So, um, we've been talking to each other for a bit now. And, well, I think that you're a pretty ni—" Rocky stopped as he stepped backwards into a small hole, losing his balance.

As Rocky began to fall back, Mordecai reached forward and grabbed one of Rocky's arms, which had been thrust forward as a way to try to regain his balance. Mordecai pulled Rocky back onto his feet. As he did, he inadvertently pulled Rocky quite close to himself. Indeed, he was practically embracing Rocky, holding his arm with one hand, with his other holding onto Rocky's side. The two stood there for a few moments, staring at each other before their brains sort of kicked in again. They both retracted at about the same time, awkwardly trying to forget it.

Rocky cleared his throat. "Sorry. I should have been looking where I was going."

Mordecai adjusted his hat, then his glasses. "It's fine. Don't worry about that."

"I won't." Mordecai had some really beautiful eyes, Rocky had noticed.

"Alright then." Rocky's eyes were piercingly blue, Mordecai had noticed. Had his eyes always been so blue? "They're done investigating the café at this point, surely."

"Yeah, yeah, almost certainly. We should, uh, probably head back now. I'm sure Miss M. would appreciate it."

"Of course. Can't have you disappoint her."

"Yeah. Let's, um, let's leave, then."

With that, the two quickly made their way back to their parking spot and back to Rocky's car. It would only be a few minutes before they were back at the Little Daisy. It would be a walk back, as well as a silent car trip. Both were obsessing over the other— their embrace, their eyes, everything they experienced about the other. All of this was starting to get really hard for either of them to ignore.


	26. Return

Rocky parked his car outside of the Little Daisy, both of the car's passengers still awkwardly quiet about what had happened at the park. Rocky started walking towards the front door, and Mordecai followed behind him. It was a few moments before he realized that he hadn't really been making sure that Mordecai was even following him before he turned around and saw him. That was… nice to see. Mordecai was, maybe, trustworthy. At least, that's what Rocky took away from it.

Rocky entered the building to few customers, with it being too early for lunch and rather late for any sort of breakfast. Mitzi and Ivy were quietly talking, with Mitzi sitting on a stool by the counter and Ivy standing behind it, cleaning some plates. Mitzi looked up upon hearing the sound of the door opening.

"Morning, Rocky," Mitzi smiled as the two got near.

"Good morning, Miss M.," Rocky replied.

"What were you two doing while you were out?" She seemed just to be curious, although she wanted to know if either of them had done anything stupid or if Rocky had done something to play into Mordecai's hands.

"Oh, we just got some breakfast at some diner. Uh, walked around some," Rocky answered, sitting on a nearby stool; he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand as he replied. Mordecai simply stood next to him, with Rocky mostly having his back to him.

"That's good."

Ivy set aside a now clean plate, "Lemme guess, Rocky— pancakes."

"Yeah! How'd you guess?" Rocky smiled.

"Lucky guess, probably." Ivy half-heartedly rolled her eyes and reached for a glass sitting upside down beside her.

"What is it with pancakes?" Mordecai asked, confused.

"I don't really know," Ivy shrugged.

"It's pancakes! That's the reason." Rocky tried to convince the two heathens.

"That's not a good enough reason," Ivy argued.

Rocky sighed. "Clearly, you don't understand.

"Whatever you say."

Silence for an awkward few seconds. Then Rocky asked, "So, Miss M., how did the whole, uh... visitor business go?"

"Seems like it went fine. No problems as of yet," Mitzi responded.

"Nobody figured anything out?"

"Didn't seem like it, Rocky. Nothing especially damnin'."

"Well then there you go, problem solved."

"Well, speaking of the investigation, would you two would come with me?" Mitzi gestured to Mordecai and Rocky, "We should talk with Viktor and think about what we're gonna next, alright? Ivy, would you please stay here and keep everything under control?"

"Yeah. Got it," Ivy nodded. The three then began to leave through the front door and round the corner towards the garage.

The garage door was open, and inside was Viktor, who was exhausted and sitting against the wall on a wooden box, drinking some water from a slightly dirty glass. He noticed the three coming in as he was taking a drink. Viktor finished his sip and set the glass down, and then he stood up.

"You two," Viktor grunted, staring at Rocky and Mordecai.

"Us two," Rocky repeated.

There was some tension in the air. "Well, boys, I think we should discuss what to do next," Mitzi said.

"Next about what?" Rocky questioned.

"The investigation. They might not have found anything today, but they'll probably come back."

"Vhy is he here?" Viktor gruffly asked, gesturing to Mordecai.

"Rocky's job is to make sure Mordecai doesn't run off. And he isn't hurting anything just being here. Yet," Mitzi explained, trying to ease the tension between Viktor and Mordecai. Viktor breathily exhaled, seemingly annoyed, but didn't say anything more.

"Vhat is there to discuss about investigation?"

"We're gonna have to keep up the hiding for at least a couple more days. They're probably expecting us to open shop again as soon as possible, get back to selling and bringing in customers to the speakeasy. And they'll probably try to catch us tonight, and tomorrow night, at least for the next few days. So, we can't reopen the bar yet."

"When are you gonna reopen everything?" Rocky wondered.

"Maybe at the end of the week, honey. But until then we'll have to just manage the café and lay low," Mitzi illustrated.

"Is there enough money to make until then?"

"Until the end of the week? Of course. But hopefully they'll have given up by then; I don't know how much longer we could keep it up."

"What about Freckle? Or the both of us?" Rocky gestured rapidly between Mordecai and himself, "What are we gonna do?"

"Well, you can tell your cousin that he can stay home until we reopen. As for the two of you, well— Mordecai's gotta go somewhere."

Rocky looked over to Mordecai, who was looking into the middle distance, not really acknowledging Rocky's glance. "What do you mean?"

"Can't exactly lock Mordecai in the storage room when we can't down there, honey. He's gonna have to stay somewhere else."

"With who?"

"I don't what to have to deal with Mordecai, and—"

"I don't want to have to deal with you, either," Mordecai added.

"Yes, I'm aware. And I don't think Viktor's a great choice either. Especially not for several days. Besides, you've been watching him since last night, and everything's been alright. Right?" Mitzi continued.

Rocky cleared his throat. "Well, yeah, it was fine, but I don't—"

"The alternative is that me or Viktor look over him for the time being." Rocky looked over to Viktor, who menacingly cracked his knuckles. Ha, always great comedic timing, that Viktor.

"Are you sure that there isn't another option?" Mordecai asked.

"Not letting you go, Mordecai, if that's what you're trying to get at." Mitzi looked from Mordecai to face Rocky, "Other option is we find some other closet to lock him in, if we can find one."

Rocky sighed. "Yeah, I see. Well, uh, what do you think, Mordecai?"

"Mordecai's under our custody. It doesn't matter what he thinks about it, Rocky."

"I suppose, given the alternatives, I can countenance a few more days with you, Rocky," Mordecai answered, nearly staring into Mitzi's eyes as he did. It was silent for a moment as the two stared directly into each other's eyes with brutal glances.

It was Mitzi who withdrew her eyes first. She cleared her throat and readjusted her posture. "That's settled, then. Good. As for work, I still want you two to come in over the next few days, but expect to be doing work here in the garage until we reopen." She pointed to Viktor and to Rocky.

"Doing vhat?" Viktor questioned.

"Manual labor. I'm expecting a small shipment of supplies for the café, so I'll need you two to unload some that. And get Mordecai involved. He hates manual labor." Mordecai glared at Mitzi. She smirked. "Right now, though, unless either of you two have anything else to say, I need to go back and help Ivy out with the café." Rocky shook his head, and neither Viktor nor Mordecai really even acknowledged that Mitzi had even spoken. "Alright. Be sure to help Viktor out with whatever he's doing, Rocky!" Mitzi called out as she left the garage.

Dominic paced around his office. At least, what room there was to paced in. One of the officers that had accompanied Dom in his visit to the Little Daisy sat in a chair on the other side of Dom's desk. "How could we not find a single thing? We should have been able to find enough to practically send 'em to the electric chair."

"Well, maybe they're clean?" the officer mumbled in his seat.

"No, they're guilty. Why else would that woman tell all about it? Why else would that little pipsqueak confess to everything that he did?"

"If you got a confession, isn't that enough to get a warrant?"

"No. No. I didn't go through the proper channels, and I broke protocol. I wasn't supposed to let the kid go, I was supposed to record it differently— whatever, whatever. It won't get me far enough. They managed to hide themselves so perfectly that there's nearly no way I can legally get to them. It's infuriating."

"What if you just say you did everything right?"

"I could. But if any of them caught on to the fact that I was lying, and surely they would— they're clever, then they'd get me fired. I think that they know more about what's going on than they let on. I can just tell. And they would certainly be able to catch me wherever I cut corners. They would. I mean, you heard that woman that I had talk with us, right, Roland?"

"Yeah? What about her?"

"She seemed clever. She seemed like the kind of person who would notice if I made a mistake."

"You sure? I don't think she did."

Dom pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned his head back. He let go with a prolonged exhale. "I should have gone and checked out the garage. Not you idiots."

"Hey."

"I actually saw that damn hatch; I knew where it was. None of you did. I don't know why I thought it was a good idea to send some of you down there to check it out. And what did they say was the reason they left so quickly?"

"Big guy scared 'em. Apparently he was more like a bear than anything else."

"Guh. Idiots. Was probably just this guy." Dom held up the picture of Viktor he had shown Freckle. "Surprised that such cowards can make it as police officers."

"Eh, I don't know. He seems pretty scary."

"That's just the picture makes him seem a bit menacing. I can't believe that they couldn't even find a hatch. How are these guys supposed to solve murders or deal with robberies? Can't even find a hatch." Roland was quiet, even as Dom looked to him for a response. "Whatever. If I'm to actually catch these people, I need to catch them red-handed when they think that I've given up."

"How are you gonna do that?"

"I don't know yet. I'm gonna have to sit down and come up with some sort of a plan." Drago pulled his chair out and sat down heavily; he'd been walking around in his office for a while now, and his legs were tired. His legs practically just gave out under him when he sat down.

"Oh. Okay. Do you, uh, still ne—"

"No, you can go. But bring me a coffee before you go back to what you were doing before," Dom urged, pulling out some blank paper from a large stack of various papers beside him. He reached out for a pen and began to write as Roland stood up.

"Oh, sure. Alright. I'll be right back with that, Mr. Drago." Roland took his leave.

Now it was just Dom, alone in his office. The windows were open and a light breeze rustled his papers every now and then. But other than when Roland came back with his coffee, he stayed focused on his papers and his thoughts. He was going to find some way to get the evidence he needed, and the Lackadaisy was going to be arrested and disbanded. Dominic would make sure of it, personally.


	27. De-escalation

**A/N: Uploaded this on Ao3 yesterday, but forgot here. Apologies!**

* * *

The garage was silent for a while. There was a palpable, suffocating tension that hung in the air between Viktor and Mordecai, which also inevitably entwined Rocky too, as the shipment was unloaded. Rocky hoped that the two of them could keep from digging into each other, unlike every other time they had been even near the other while Mordecai was in captivity. Rocky and Viktor were moving boxes while Mordecai sat down for a moment, having just moved some boxes, despite his deep desire not to do such labor. Viktor kept unhappily eyeing him as he sat there, which let Rocky know that, clearly, he was about to start complaining about him. Rocky just hoped that he was wrong.

"Vhy doesn't he contribute?" Viktor asked, more or less to himself, judgmentally. Of course Rocky wasn't wrong.

Mordecai turned slightly to look at Viktor. "What are you talking about, Viktor?"

"I've been doing all the lifting, you've just been sitting there." Viktor set down a heavy box on top of a small stack of boxes with a huff. He leaned on it and faced Mordecai.

"I've subjected myself to moving these things around too, Viktor. I've only sat down for a second."

"Excuses. You just don't vant to vork. Like usual."

"I don't work? Is that what you think?"

"I did more vork than you. Just like with Lackadaisy before."

"So just cause you're bigger or stronger you think you worked more than I did?"

"Vhat did you do back then?"

Rocky quickly walked over and stood to the side of the two, who were slowly inching up towards each other. Rocky tried to deescalate the situation, "Hey, hold on. We don't need this."

Mordecai ignored this input, "Same thing I do now, Viktor—"

"Be kidnapped and vhine about lifting?"

"I shoot people. And I'm not 'whining.'"

"Shoot people like me?"

"Again? This is about that again?" Mordecai, annoyed, wondered.

"I vas shot in the knees!"

"What do you want from me now? I can't change the past!" Mordecai was in Viktor's face now.

"That's all you can do? You crippled me!"

"Well, what _do _you want from me? Fix your knees? Put your body back together? I can't fix what's already happened."

"You can't even say it vas your fault!"

"Is that what you want from me? You want me to take blame for everything that happened?"

"If you can survive taking a step out of the self-righteous bubble for a second— ya. But I think you vould rather I crush you than you admit you are wrong." Viktor looked ready to do so.

Mordecai was about to try and take down Viktor, until he looked over at Rocky. He had already seen this fight take place, just a couple of days ago, and he didn't exactly expect to be able to break it up. Mordecai could see the thinking Rocky was doing, the worrying over what he would do to try and keep the two from killing each other. He saw in his widened blue eyes a glance that made Mordecai feel awful. Rocky didn't want them fighting. And in this pause, where the air was silent again for a short moment, Mordecai came to the realization that perhaps he didn't want that either.

The two had been at odds for what felt like forever. They had once been happy together, but that wasn't something that could happen now. And the fighting was accomplishing nothing. All he was doing was escalating things and worrying those around them. Rocky was expecting things to go bad, and up until this point, so was Mordecai. But, in introspection, Mordecai had an epiphany of his feelings, and could feel like he'd stumbled upon a new viewpoint of the situation. He was still mad, still had adrenaline coursing through his veins, ready to fight. Yet, he resisted that, lowered his arms, ready to brawl. He cleared his throat and gave himself a moment to gather the words. He would either be beaten up by Viktor still, or could maybe stop this from happening again.

"...Vell?" Viktor asked, impatient.

"Well… I'm sorry."

"You're sorry. Is that it? That's all you can give?" Whether or not that was sincere, that was barely an apology at all.

"No. It's my fault your knees are so bad now, and it's my fault that we split up."

Rocky lowered his previously cautiously raised hands and seemed to relax a tad. Viktor, too, lowered his hands as things deescalated. He even seemed a bit confused— baffled that Mordecai could, would, accept so much blame. "Oh."

Mordecai continued, feeling as if, for the first time, this concession was accurate; he _was_ responsible. "I shouldn't have been so incessant about leaving, and shooting you was an overreaction." In taking that initial leap of faith, in taking the initiative to apologize, even from just what he'd felt when he began to speak, there was now a cascade of thoughts in Mordecai's head as he felt more and more in the wrong, and more and more responsible to apologize.

"Ah." Viktor rubbed the back of his neck. "Vell, that doesn't—" Viktor stopped himself, becoming aware of Rocky glaring at him. Rocky knew Viktor was about to sweep that apology under the rug and ignore that any attempt at progress had been made. And to that judgment, Mordecai's actual effort, and that as his anger diminished, he too felt to making progress. His head cleared, his perception baffled by the leap Mordecai made, his viewpoint aligning with Mordecai's, that this whole argument thing was pointless. "Ah, I, um, shouldn't haff forced for you to stay. I should haff listened." Realization dawned on Rocky's face; they could actually solve this mess.

"You were right about some things, Viktor. I ought to give you credit for that."

"You vere right about this job being dangerous!" Viktor laughed, a small cough encroaching as he did; unintentional evidence of Viktor's statement.

"I'm sorry that we've been fighting for so long."

"Ya," Viktor agreed, contemplating that note.

Mordecai let out a long sigh. "So, what now?"

It was a good question to ask; having seemingly stopped fighting, finally, the question had to be posited. What would be the two's new interactions with each other look like? What was the classification of their relationship now that they were no longer fighting? What would they do with themselves now, now that this had been resolved?

Both had had an oxymoronic connection to the other. They despised the other, blaming them for the break-up and the subsequent problems, yet they wanted to get back together. Whether they realized it or not, even if it was just a whisper in the back of their mind, they had thought about, desired, reuniting their relationship. But, having created peace between them, and with some more discussion after Mordecai posed the question, they came to agree that they ought not.

Even though the violent, brutal arguments and the feelings that they had had been resolved, and some of the wounds that they had caused papered over, there was much in the way of them coming together again. Viktor, no matter how much conversation there was, wasn't going to completely forgive Mordecai for kneecapping him. And Mordecai, no matter how much conversation there was, wasn't going to completely forgive Viktor for discrediting him or for ignoring him. And neither could let go of the arguments, no matter how many wounds were bandaged; too much damage had been caused by them to ignore. Their relationship with each other had been something both of them wanted to, in some way or another, revive, yet they both agreed that that was in the past. Things had simply changed, and there was just no way for them to get things back to how they had been.

And with that agreement, they would move on. Keep their relationship sacred in their mind, something of a memento of simpler, possibly better times, and they would go their own ways. It was the best solution; there was no longer hatred, but feelings weren't positive. Not yet could things be resolved even close to that much.

When their work ended, and the day drew to a close, Mordecai and Rocky split off to Rocky's car as Viktor made his way back to his home. The two then made their way to Rocky's aunt's house— he had to tell Freckle about the plan discussed at work, and having the car parked on the side of the road in front of the house was just convenient.

Rocky caught Freckle as he was walking back inside, having done something or another outside. He explained to Freckle, with Mordecai standing at his side, that they were keeping the Lackadaisy locked up for the next few days, and that Rocky would be watching over Mordecai meanwhile. Rocky said, that if his mother wondered why he wasn't going to work, to tell her that the business was under renovations or something. Rocky apparently trusted Freckle's ability to improvise. Freckle was happy to hear that things had, for now, at least, gone well, and hoped that things would continue to do, despite his confession. As for not going into work? Well, it was what had to be done.

That night would still be a bit of a challenge, though. Rocky still had no place for Mordecai to sleep, and he would be watching over him for at least a few nights. So, Rocky saw it best to try and find a permanent solution to this problem now. Rocky suggested to Mordecai that both of them sleep in Rocky's car. Rocky would sleep in the messy back, Mordecai could sleep in the less messy front. It wasn't great, but it was the best Rocky could offer. Given, of course, that Mordecai could promise to not try and take off in the middle of the night, while Rocky slept. Mordecai wasn't particularly thrilled to be sleeping in a car for the next however long, but his previous sleeping arrangements had been on the floor in a glorified closet, so it wasn't the worst place to sleep. And, to Rocky's request to not escape, he agreed.

Feeling, in perhaps a more extreme word than how he really felt, liberated, Mordecai couldn't help but see things, feel things, in a new way. No longer was there some part of his mind clinging to the idea of getting back together with Viktor. As such, seeing Rocky, who he'd already noticed was a bit attractive, he was swayed. Rocky was increasingly seeming handsome to him. Their personalities were nearly completely opposites, but in a way, it worked. Mordecai couldn't help now in enjoying Rocky's company. He'd been the only one to stand by him, to keep him from dying. He'd been keeping him sane with conversation and had been advocating for him. Rocky was becoming more important to Mordecai as time went on. And he couldn't decide if that was okay or not. He didn't know whether to escape or not. He didn't know if he wanted to return to his job. Mordecai hadn't been this lost in quite a long time. So while he didn't know quite what he wanted, he decided that he would stick around and try to find that out. Mordecai agreed to sleep in the car, with no intention to escape.

His plan to escape when first given the opportunity, well, it had faltered. His reluctance to return to his unpleasant job at the Marigold and his growing desire to possibly get closer to Rocky were muddying his usually logical, solid decision making. His brain was still muddled with thoughts on Viktor, and thoughts on escaping, thoughts on Rocky, thoughts on his job, thoughts on everything concerning him. It was a bit much.

Rocky was nervous about putting this much trust in Mordecai. Yes, he'd been trusting Mordecai more and more, but he was still a hostage, and they typically don't want to stick around and see what happens. Rocky had already been warned not to let Mordecai escape, and Rocky was practically handing him the keys to do just that. When he was asleep, Mordecai could just open the car doors and walk away, and then rocky would wake up in an empty car. And who knows what would happen when he told Miss M. that. So, Rocky simply had to trust in Mordecai, even more than he already had, and believe that he wouldn't take advantage of it.

Nighttime came, and Rocky got into the back. Mordecai in the front. And after spending much of the day lifting crates, Rocky was tired. It wasn't long before he fell asleep in the back. Mordecai, however, inundated with thoughts, didn't. Not yet, at least. Instead he racked through his mind to try and solve his problems, to decide one way or another on the dilemmas he had. But he became distracted. He noticed Rocky asleep, and after looking at him for a moment, he realized he could do nothing more but stare.

He was, Mordecai hesitated to say it, adorable. Listless and defenseless, he was draped over the back seat, still dressed in the clothes he'd worn that day. He was on his side, his head resting on his outstretched arm, which served as a pillow. Rocky truly was good-looking. Mordecai's eyes couldn't help but drift across him, from his handsome face to his figure. Mordecai perhaps wished that he hadn't overheard that Rocky was also interested in him, because with that knowledge, the decision of whether or not to pursue Rocky rested on his shoulders. And Mordecai had no idea what to do there. Mordecai didn't like not knowing what to do.

Eventually, despite Rocky's sleeping body in front of him, Mordecai fell asleep, in some position or another. The day had little but complicate matters for him. Despite the comfort in knowing that things had calmed down between him and Viktor, it had now made it more apparent how much there was to decide regarding Rocky. And that morning, the time he'd spent with him, hadn't helped. Rocky's beautiful eyes, they hadn't helped. And watching him sleep, that certainly hadn't helped. And so, despite having, finally, an easy escape, Mordecai couldn't take it. Taking the escape would mean going back to work, leaving Rocky, abandoning this much-needed, unique escape from his day-to-day life. And with all of these options, these decisions made available to Mordecai, it would be reckless to turn away from them. So, he lied to himself. This continued waiting was so that Mordecai could plan the best course of events, and he would only have the best possible escape. But of course, his mind was focused on other things. Mainly Rocky.


	28. Tension

Someone was shaking Rocky's shoulder. Rocky opened his eyes and lifted his head up to see who it was. Leaning over and gently trying to wake Rocky was Mordecai. "...Should we go?" Mordecai quietly asked, nearly whispering.

The sun was rising, shining yellow and orange light through the windshield into the car, and directly into Rocky's eyes. He shifted and rubbed his eyes, sitting upright now. "Uh," Rocky stopped to yawn, "give me a second." Mordecai nodded and sat back in his seat.

Rocky could use some coffee. Or some good breakfast. He stretched his legs out into the leg space behind the seat in front of him, having to lift himself off of the seat to fit his outstretched legs completely. He stretched his arms out above him and then he hit the top of the car, and extended them out in front of him instead. And suddenly he realized— Mordecai had stuck around. He hadn't taken advantage of Rocky.

Rocky, perhaps obviously doing so, stopped and stared at Mordecai for a moment, who was turned away and looking out the car window. Rocky was glad that Mordecai hadn't taken advantage of the fact that he really could have just run away while Rocky was asleep. Rocky struggled to think of the right word to describe it. Hr was filled with… appreciation? Admiration? Regardless, Rocky viewed Mordecai with a newfound thankfulness. Maybe he was trustworthy. To a degree, of course.

Rocky, still looking at the back of Mordecai's head, suddenly realized that they ought to leave; his aunt could come outside at any moment, and Rocky wasn't in the mood to explain why Mordecai was there, or to explain where he was going if Freckle wasn't going into work. Rocky climbed over into the driver's seat, and Mordecai turned to see what he was doing. It was only a few moments until Rocky was driving back to the café.

Rocky and Mordecai arrived shortly after, and Rocky went to speak to Mitzi. There wasn't especially that much for the two of them to do, but Mitzi was still paying Rocky, after all, so she had Rocky fill out a small stack of paperwork she'd been meaning to get around to. She assumed it would only take him maybe an hour, at the most, but it would be helpful if he did it. After which, she didn't really care what he did; no real work could get done until they could open the speakeasy again.

So, Rocky and Mordecai came down into the Little Daisy, sitting at the counter, where the two of them and Ivy had pleasant conversation, and the two boys ordered breakfast.

"So I shoved the book back into her hands, and I said, 'You know, it sounds like _you're_ gonna need that where you're going.'" Ivy finished retelling some humorous anecdote of hers.

"What?" Rocky laughed, "What did she do?" Rocky took a big sip of his coffee.

"She just looked at me as if I had just shot her or something! Then she just started walking away, without a word. I don't know if she ever came back."

Rocky set down his mug, having already swallowed his coffee. He smiled broadly, snickering a bit, "How come you've never told me that story? That's hilarious!" Rocky turned slightly, "Did you hear it, Mordecai?"

Mordecai _had _been paying attention, and it was a bit funny, but he'd been looking at Rocky. He'd only eaten a tiny portion of his toast and eggs because he had been too busy staring at the dumb smile Rocky had had on his face. His eyes, the rays of sunlight coming in through the window making them shimmer. He continued to deny it, but it was getting more and more difficult each passing day— he had fallen for Rocky. But, Mordecai decided, he would eventually get over it, when he inevitably had to return to work. "Yes, I heard."

"And?" Rocky asked.

"And it was funny, I suppose."

Rocky sighed, still smiling. "I guess I shouldn't expect you to show emotion and laugh."

"Well anyway, that was the last time I—" Ivy began, "Oh, hold on a second, boys." She stepped to the side to hear a customer's request. "Hold on, I've gotta take care of this, Rocky." She walked around the counter and to a booth on the other side of the café.

Upstairs, Mitzi was in her office, on the phone. On the other end was Asa. It was another attempt for Mitzi to get rid of Mordecai and for Asa to take him back. "That's not what I want, Asa."

"Well, what are you gonna do to make me do that? Have your band members shoot me to death?" Asa smugly taunted.

"I'll have you know that business is good. And there's nothing that you can do to change that."

"Oh, that business that's_ closed? _Because the _Feds _are finally on your tail?"

"How do you know about that?" How he knew that the speakeasy hadn't been opened, well, he could easily tell that. How he knew it was because of Dominic's investigation though? That was intriguing.

"I got sources, sweetheart. But besides, a closed, weakened, was on its deathbed a month ago speakeasy is no threat, so I'm not gonna do whatever you ask, especially not things against my own interests. Mordecai's a useful asset, sure, but I'm not gonna let you start demanding things to get him back. Instead, I'm gonna offer that you return him, and I won't even have any hard feelings."

"No. You're actin' like _you're_ in control here, but _I_ hold all the cards, so you—"

"'All the cards?' Mitzi, listen to yourself. Listen, it's great that you managed to find a way to keep yourself from going under for the time being, and I'll admit, you having possession of Mordecai certainly has been a thorn in my side, but 'all the cards?' You're being a little too sure of yourself, don'tcha think?"

"I don't. I know that in time you'll fold and give me what I want."

"Ha! Fat chance." Asa took a puff of his cigar. "Anyways, this is my last offer, Mitzi. Hand back Mordecai, and I won't have to do anything I don't want to. As a bonus, close down the Lackadaisy and maybe we don't have to be so competitive. So, uh, rivalrous. Whaddya say?"

"If you think I'd agree to either of those 'offers', Asa, then you obviously haven't learned a thing from this phone call."

There was silence on the other end for a moment. Then a faint exhale. "Alright, sweetheart. Point taken. But in case you couldn't tell, this isn't over. So when you come crawling back to me, wishing that you'd taken up my offer, don't say I didn't warn you." Pause. "Have a nice day, Mitzi." And he hung up the phone.

That night, after Rocky and Mordecai he already left the café, after Ivy had finished things up and had closed down the restaurant, and after Mitzi had gone to bed, Dominic slowly, quietly, pulled up to the store in his car. He turned the car off, stepped out, the door creaking a tad as he did, and he walked up to the front door. At his disposal, among a few other things, was a flashlight, and the tool integral to this whole investigation: a camera.

The goal was to get photographic evidence of wrongdoings. He was doing this _alone_ this time, because he already knew where the secret hatch was, and he knew more about this case than any bumbling officer back at the station did. He was going to slink away, with no evidence whatsoever, like his backup had yesterday. He was going to get proof. From there, he was back in the proper channels, and it would be a quick path to a warrant, a proper, fully outfitted search, and inevitably, arrests and his investigation's success. It was simple. Easy. In, through the secret entrances, photograph their booze and how to access them, then back to his superiors.

But it didn't go that way. After a laborious hour and a half of searching, both in the café, having picked the lock, and in the garage, having utilized an unlocked and unbarred side door, Dominic came up with nothing. He swore he had seen a hatch, and he found the shelf where the secret door supposedly was very suspicious, yet there was nothing beyond that. He searched around on the garage floor, even having spent twenty minutes on his hands and knees scouring over every square inch of the garage. There was a sketchy area around where he thought the hatch had been, but it was under a car and seemed to be nothing at all. The café yielded similar results, with the shelf he'd been told was special giving nothing. It didn't seem like it was a door at all. It felt firmly planted into the ground and sitting up against a wall.

But that kid had spilled everything! He'd laid everything out for him, nice and simple. And he hadn't been lying; dear god, even _Dominic_ could see the emotion on that kid's face when Dom destroyed his lies. And that woman, she seemed to be telling the truth, too. And all of this lined up with the evidence and conceptions he already had about the case. Yet this was a wrench thrown into the works, and it was a terrible setback. If the entrances to the underground speakeasy weren't real, as it seemed now, then where was this goddamn bar? Where was there evidence? _Was _there evidence?

Dom was sitting on a box in the dark garage, his flashlight at his side providing the only illumination. He couldn't let their tricks put him off of the path— there was simply too much evidence for there _not_ to be a speakeasy here. Dominic would just have to return to his office and reconsider things. Maybe ask Zib some more questions. Sweeten the deal, threaten him, something ought to get him to talk. Or maybe, he could return to that kid, get him to give him some more answers.

This failure was a setback to his investigation. But it wouldn't be fatal. By god, Dominic wouldn't let it be. He was going to gather more answers, and then he would return, new knowledge letting him finally get that evidence he so desperately needed.

Dominic left the garage, making sure that both that side door and the café's front door both looked the exact same way as when he'd arrived. The café's interior and garage already had already been reset, with there seemingly being no evidence that Dom had even set foot on the property. With that, then, Dom returned to his car, frustrated, but already planning out his triumphant return on some future night. He started the car up and drove off. Tomorrow, he had some people to talk to.


	29. Hat in Hand

Bright light streaked in through the window, illuminating the room and creating a long shadow of Freckle. Freckle stood at the far end of the room from said window, rummaging through his closet for an outfit. Normally he wasn't still in his pajamas this late into the morning, but he'd been a bit lazy today. He was still nervous about Lackadaisy, vis-à-vis the investigation, but everything at least seemed, _seemed,_ okay. He'd seen Rocky pull up outside last night, and saw that they were gone now. Nothing had happened up to this point, and it would seem, if things continued, that nothing _would _happen. Freckle wasn't overconfident, but he could relax some, knowing that things were alright for the time being.

He laid the clean clothes on the edge of his bed and started changing, throwing his pajamas into a small pile at his side. It was as he was pulling his pants on that there was a soft rapping against his bedroom door. "There's someone at the door for you, Calvin. Says it's important," Nina explained through the door.

"Oh, uh, just a minute," Freckle replied, still dressing. He wondered who it was, but hurried himself nonetheless; he didn't want to keep them waiting. After a short time, he descended the steps towards the front door as he finished buttoning, up at his collar. He dusted himself off, pulled his sleeves to full length, and opened the front door.

Out of all the people who it could have been, it was probably the person Freckle least wanted to talk to today. He'd briefly thought it was them, in the back of his mind as he had finished getting dressed, but to be confronted with them was immediately nerve-racking. Dominic stood on the porch, slightly at the side, hat in one hand, the second holding the first. Seeing Freckle, he gave a smile that ranged somewhere between 'weak and unconvincing' and 'suave and condescending', but Freckle couldn't quite place it. "Calvin, pleasure to see you again. Agreeable weather today, huh?"

"Uh, what do you want?" Freckle asked, nervously, still standing within the threshold.

"Just wanted to speak with you— ask some questions." Dominic saw the instant worry on Freckle's face and chuckled softly, "Nothing as rigorous as before, I assure you. Come out here onto the porch."

Freckle did so, closing the front door behind him. His head was full of anxious thoughts. Had he finally succeeded, and Freckle's cousin and all of his acquaintances were in jail? Was he going to put Freckle in jail? Was he trying to intimidate Freckle? "So, how are you, Calvin? How have things been?" Dom wondered.

"Um, fine," Freckle muttered.

"Busied yourself at the café recently?" Dom leaned against the railing behind him, still subtly, politely smiling.

"No, I haven't." Freckle felt it necessary to give a firm answer. And that answer, based in truth, was that he hadn't; he'd kept away from it like it was the Plague.

"That's good. And you haven't divulged anything about our little conversation the other day?"

"No." _That_ answer was _not_ based in truth, of course, but what else was he supposed to do? Say yes and risk being arrested or something?

"Good. Great, even, Calvin. I knew you were better than those guys you were working with." Freckle, due to necessity, neglected to comment on that. "But, what I need to ask you— everything you told me the other day was accurate?"

"...Yeah. After you figured out I was lying."

"Of course, of course." He waved his hat slightly; he already knew that much, "Even about those secret entrances you told me about?"

"Yeah." Freckle really didn't want to be answering these questions. He was providing information that he had been entrusted with, information and secrets that could be used against his friends. It made him feel nearly nauseous, practically double-crossing them like that.

"Where they were? How you accessed them? Where they led? All that?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Can you not just give me an answer?" Dominic huffed, standing up straight again. Freckle could take advantage of this. He seemed to be something approaching desperate.

"I'm just wondering." Freckle's typically innocent, childlike demeanor was serving him well now.

Dominic exhaled, again, more a huff than a sigh, and put his hat back on, "Well, I just need answers. I went to the damn place, went there myself, and I looked where you told me, and found nothing— nothing at all." Dominic pinched the bridge of his nose. "I see you as something of a good guy, Calvin. Perhaps even a samaritan, if you were inclined. You've been helpful, whether you wanted to be or not, and even still, you seem to have strayed away from returning to the way of life I pulled you from." He was giving himself a bit too much credit there. "You're good. But I haven't the evidence I need, and I'm, for the time being, ceasing investigations, because no amount of pilgrimages to the café is gonna get me what I need. So what I'm wanting from you, Calvin, is a simple favor from an ally; confirmation that there _is _evidence to be found."

Indeed, there was an opportunity here— one that led Freckle to feel nearly confident. The investigations on the speakeasy were done for now. That was big news. Dominic saw him as an _ally._ That was false, but was a useful tool. A desperate investigator, lost on facts, coming to a clearly undedicated "ally" was useful. "Okay. You're right. I don't wanna get arrested for that stuff. I don't really know why I did it in the first place." Freckle cleared his throat. "There _are _secret entrances where I told you."

"Do you have… evidence? If you had any _pictures_ of those, or any of the alcohol, that would be of great use." He didn't see Freckle's lies for what they were, despite the fact that Freckle felt that they were rather shallow and transparent.

"I don't." But here presented further utility. Dom had stopped investigating, something that could let the Lackadaisy reopen, because he had no evidence. Freckle could promise to get him evidence, and could use that as leverage. He could say it would take time, and could delay Dominic, perhaps even indefinitely. "But," Freckle switched his weight from one leg to the other, "I could try and get some."

Dom's ears perked at this, and although he was trying to hide it, he was clearly excited at the prospect. He harrumphed to try and distract and disguise said excitedness. "Could you, now?"

"It would probably take a while though. The other guys'll probably be suspicious of me after everything that happened, and I'll need time to throw them off and get pictures. But I can get you pictures."

"That sounds good. I would appreciate that."

"Uh, but do you think you could let me know if anything changes? I don't wanna be there if you start investigating again. I'm not getting evidence for my own arrest."

"Oh, yes, of course." Desperation-based leverage working its magic. "I wouldn't want my man on the inside to be caught up in all of this. You and I made a deal, and with you keeping up your side, it's only fair I keep up mine." Freckle felt a bit bad taking advantage of him like this, until he remembered Dominic's dramatic, self-confident, ruthless way of extracting information out of Freckle, and he remembered Zib being in jail— still in jail. And then he wasn't exactly too conflicted. Dom had and would do the same to him.

"And then, after you've got evidence, what do you do?"

"Then I've got reason for further investigation or even arrests. From there we can dismantle this whole operation."

"Well, you probably shouldn't be investigating it yourself for the time being. You might get noticed and let them know about everything." If all this was to work, a longshot already, then Dominic couldn't come by and find things out.

"Hmm, that's a good point." He took it as if it was genuine advice. "If they knew, it would jeopardize both of us. I'll be keeping my distance while you do your work, then."

"Good. I can get you some evidence. Eventually, at least. And then it's done, right?"

"After you have what I need, consider yourself done. You can put this chapter of your life behind you. I know you will."

"Yeah, I will." Freckle was feeling that nervous feeling in his stomach come back.

"Well, I don't need to keep you any longer than I have already. Your mother seemed like a nice woman. And if she asks, just tell her I was returning this." He reached behind him and grabbed Freckle's hat, card and all; it had been sitting on the top of the railing behind him. Freckle didn't even realize he had forgotten it. He extended his hand and grabbed it. "Thanks, Calvin. I knew you could help me out." He waved and started descending the outside steps and walking towards his car, the same one that had driven him home that night he had been questioned. "Just know you're making St. Louis a safer place. That's what we're fighting for. Have a nice day," Drago called back to Freckle before getting in his car.

Freckle nearly felt sick, watching Dom drive away. Making St. Louis safer. He wasn't doing that. He was making it more dangerous. He had been outright lying right to Dominic's face. Freckle watched the car drive off and disappear, and then he turned around, hat in hand, and walked back inside.

That night, when Rocky had returned from the Little Daisy, he was sure to tell Rocky about what happened. The investigation had come to a halt. Dominic trusted Freckle to the point of no longer looking for proof. The threat of Dominic had been subdued for now. The only cost had been the stability of Freckle's moral compass.

Rocky, after making completely sure that Freckle was telling the truth, then quickly returned to the Little Daisy, bringing Mordecai back with him. The two, Rocky leading the charge, made their way to Mitzi.

Rocky relayed the information to Mitzi now. Rocky, with a smile and full of enthusiasm, said that that meant Lackadaisy could open for business again. Mitzi wasn't completely convinced, but Rocky said that if Freckle's story wasn't completely accurate, and anything went wrong, he would take all the blame. He would be responsible. Perhaps that was enough. Perhaps it wasn't. But Mitzi elected to open the Lackadaisy for business again the next night. Rocky and Freckle would be busy tomorrow night.


	30. Repaid

Indeed, Rocky and Freckle _were_ busy; business was, to some surprise, good. There were more patrons in that one night than there had been in a whole week a couple of weeks ago. Maybe it was down to the new furniture, maybe it was due to the new alcohol, maybe it was just luck, but business seemed to be good enough to be making a profit again. Freckle came back into work, seeing as there wasn't really a chance for him to be caught anymore, and he took up the job of holding down the bar and retrieving drinks for people. Mitzi thought it was a good idea, seeing as how he didn't have anything specific to do and how he would wear a suit, in contrast to Viktor. And despite the nervousness that Freckle often felt, and the awkwardness that sometimes arose in conversation, he was still a better conversationalist with patrons than Viktor was.

The band played, with more or less warm reception. Although, it was obvious to those in the Lackadaisy's payroll, bar Freckle, that it wasn't the same— Zib was still absent, of course. Mitzi hadn't forgotten, but the obvious evidence of his absence brought it back to the forefront of her mind; Zib was still in jail. If business continued to be good, and the threat of a raid or additional arrests really was over, then Mitzi was to try and do something about that. Perhaps she ought to post bail; it would seem that she had the money now.

That night ended without a hitch. And a few more nights that were, in comparison to business last month, overwhelmingly successful. Access to the storeroom meant Mordecai could be locked up again, which put Mitzi at ease— no possibility of Mordecai escaping while Rocky watched over him. And everyone had jobs, jobs which they fulfilled well. Viktor wasn't exactly in perfect health now, but he, as he attested himself, was well enough to do the rum-running. All in all, Mitzi considered something of a miracle that things were as good as they were now. And, it meant that Mitzi could finally resolve another situation. Lackadaisy had been in operation again for four nights now, and Mitzi had gathered enough money to be able to pay off her loan.

A quick trip to Wick's, driven by Rocky, Mitzi had with her all of the money she had promised back to Wick— in cash. The car pulled to a stop at the front of the mansion. Mitzi opened the passenger side door and began to exit. As did Rocky. "Oh, Rocky, stay right there, won't you? I'll just be a moment," Mitzi instructed, stopping Rocky in his movement.

"Oh, of course, Miss M.," Rocky smiled, shutting the door and sitting back down. Mitzi walked up to the front door.

It was only a moment before she was let in, seemed to be one of the house staff. Regardless, an unfamiliar face. Upon asking where Wick was, they led her to a room a bit deeper into the house. They stopped outside the door and said that he was on the phone. And with that, they went back to their business.

Mitzi pushed the door, already ajar, open, slowly. She could hear Wick, just as described, on the phone. "—per share?" Wick was focused, but seemed to be just barely smiling, "Okay, and how many shares now?" Pause. "Alright, signal to the board that I think it's time for a stock split, then. Got it? I propose a two-for-one." Mitzi slipped into the room some, envelope in hand. Wick noticed her out of the corner of her eye and quickly turned his head. "Of course I know the consequences it might have," he continued, staring right at Mitzi.

He paused, and Mitzi waited for him to put his hand over the receiver and say something, but he continued. "What's the projected value next quarter?" Wick waved, brow ever-so-slightly furrowed, holding up his index finger for her to wait, and he gestured for her to step outside. But, Mitzi simply stepped forward and dropped the envelope onto the desk Wick was at. Wick was confused and turned away from Mitzi to investigate. He began to open it. "And investor confidence is high, still?" he continued, unbothered.

Looking inside, his eyes widened a bit, and he hesitated. "Ethel, I need you to hold on just a minute, I've got someone here in my office." He put his hand over the receiver and quietly whispered aside, "What's this?"

"You know what this is," Mitzi stated.

"You're paying back the loan?"

"Mhm. Interest included."

Wick seemed a bit astounded. "Already? And, well, at all? I'm surprised, Mitzi. You must be running a tight ship over there."

"Of course." Mitzi turned to leave. "And consider stopping by at some point," she smiled, before disappearing past the threshold, leaving Wick with his investment repaid. And with that, she left the house, returned to the car, and got back home. In and out. That was off of her shoulders.

And in a different place in the city, Dominic was drinking some recently brewed coffee, sitting in his office. No information had come in from Calvin yet, although he was still patiently waiting. But in the meantime, he hoped to cement his suspicions and possible gain some more useful information. He'd personally had Zib kept in the holding cell the whole time, hoping that he would get the information needed for a warrant, then could properly question him for evidence, viable in court. But now, he was cashing Zib's usefulness in, since he might need him to even get to court in the first place. He'd taken some time to come up with some lies and some exaggerations to coax Zib into telling him what he knew; he hadn't divulged anything before. If there was one thing Dom could say about him, it was that he could keep his lips sealed, to a fault, perhaps.

He took his mug, stood up, and walked out of the office, taking his chair with him. Passing the threshold, he turned around, pulled the chair in front of the holding cell's bars, and sat down. It was nearly empty in the building, with most of the officers off on patrol or dealing with cases. There was only one here, who was engrossed in a magazine of some kind. Dominic still hadn't garnered the attention of Zib, who was reading a book. Drago had lent it to him. He had been, and would be, staying there for many days; it only seemed right to give him a bit of entertainment. It was a copy of Moby Dick, one of the few books Dom had had on hand when he'd offered. Seemed like a good read, at least, compared to the drab articles and dry catalogues he had in his office.

Dominic pulled himself closer to the bars, and clinked the bottom of his mug against the bar, angling it towards him. "Zib," Dom said.

Zib looked up, over the pages of the book. He then returned to the book. "Well hello, Dominic."

"You know, I've got a few questions to ask you."

Zib looked over the book, annoyed. "Is that so?"

"Yes. And it would be—"

"You know, Dom, I've got a few questions of my own." Zib sat up, setting the book down next to him, closed. He was alone in the holding cell now, with both Virgil and the other, unrelated cellmate having been gone for quite a while. "When are you planning on letting me go?"

"Now, we're still waiting on bureaucracy to work its magic and for you to get a court da—"

"No, not that. Of course I'm still being kept in the legal system. But I was supposed to be moved to a city jail. Right when I was about to be moved, you pulled aside that officer and, well, _for some reason,_ he decided to let me be." Zib stood up and meandered over towards the bars. "I'd prefer to not be in jail at all, of course, but I'd still rather be in an actual jail than in this place. The only thing I've got to occupy myself is this book." He held up the book. "And it's great and all, sure— a literary masterpiece, but I've read this damn thing two times now. I'm on my third." He threw the book back onto the bed. "So I guess my question is really 'why aren't you letting me leave?'"

"Questioning. You haven't cooperated."

"Oh, so you make the rules here? The officers just listen to you and your bogus charges?"

"Not bogus. Yesterday, I got photographs of the speakeasy." Here were the lies.

"Mhm, yeah. Alright. And I _work _at a speakeasy," Zib remarked.

"I've got evidence of the secret entrances. Both in the garage and in the café. The hatch and the shelf." Zib subtly blanched. Now he had him. "The _underground_ speakeasy. And I've got a warrant for arrest on several heads. Including a few notable names: Dorian Zibowski and Mitzi May, among others." He'd done research, through the state files and through logs in every system he could get his hands on, and he'd found something approaching Zib's weak point.

"Secret entrances? Ha, I don't know any," Zib swallowed, "secret entrances."

"Tomorrow, some officers and I march into the Little Daisy and we arrest everyone involved in this operation. And your sentence becomes much longer, Zib."

"...How much longer?" Indeed, he had him.

"Don't know. That's up for the jury to decide. But, ballpark, I'd say five years. Could be more. Could be less. But it certainly doesn't help your case that you've already dodged a judge." Dom leaned back, sipping coffee. "But, I've got something here for you, Zib. You see, I can hardly blame you for what's happened here. From what I've learned in my investigations, you are and have been, truly, a sax player, and nothing more illegal. I can't have you tried for what your colleague, Ms. May, has done here in St. Louis. You just went along with the flow, along with your bandmate, and ended up in over your head. And you just kept going along, despite whatever objections you might have had. You aren't to blame here."

"That is, of course," Dom got to his point, "if you can help out our case. If you answer my questions, instead of insisting that there's no speakeasy, like before, then perhaps I can cut you a deal. I can strike you off of the files. Put in a note that you were innocent, not involved in any way, and keep you from the bootlegging charges. Maybe put in a good word for your trial for missing that other court date. And perhaps a good word for your bandmates— even Mitzi."

Zib was silent. Coming to terms with the reality that was confronting him. The false reality, of course, which was perpetrated by optimistic thinking on Dom's part, lying about what had transpired. It wasn't like Zib could fact-check him, as it were. "...Can I see the warrant?" Maybe he could try.

"You want to see it?" Zib nodded. "Can't. It's with the officers on patrol already. They're ready to go make a few arrests when I'm ready."

"Then can I see the photographs?" Zib was getting skeptical now.

"In the evidence locker. Not possible either."

"How do I know you're telling the truth? At all?"

A hard question. One that Dom didn't, and couldn't, have the answer to. But he had a way to get around having to answer it. "Well then," Dom stood up, mug in hand, "I guess I tried. Should have known you would keep your lips shut." Dom began to walk towards his office, dragging the chair with him.

"Woah, hold on!" Zib shouted, jerking towards the bars, hands up. "I'll do it, I'll answer questions, Dominic."

Dominic, safely facing away from Zib, smiled, before, blank expression, turning back, sitting in his chair again, and speaking again, "Alright then. Maybe I was wrong." He took out a small notepad and pencil from his pocket. "What, to the best of your knowledge, was the Lackadaisy doing in the weeks before your arrest?" He had him.


	31. Lunch

"Hello again, Mitzi."

"Well, if it isn't you again, Asa. You know, I'm startin' to think you're getting desperate with how many times you've called me these past few days."

"Not desperate. Annoyed. Concerned, perhaps."

Mitzi was in her office, around mid-morning, on the phone yet again. Asa had called her each day since Mitzi had reopened the speakeasy. He reminded her of his warnings, and when that didn't work, he started to state, as a fact, that she ought to shut down. More warnings, more urgency. Mitzi, with her profit uncharacteristically high, and so too her confidence, refused. Asa was getting insulted, as well as nearing his last straw.

"Just a difference in word choice, honey." Mitzi inhaled, her cigarette holder between her lips, "Anyway, what are you calling about now? The same reason as the last half-dozen calls?" She exhaled smoke.

"If that's how you want to reduce things, sure. You need to shut down your business. And I'm getting fed up with your refusal."

"I can make my own decisions, thank you very much. And I'm not gonna close down such a profitable business just cause you told me to."

"How about because I _warned_ you to?"

"No."

"Ha, okay," Asa chuckled, "well, your business isn't gonna stay profitable forever."

"The same could be said about yours."

"Yours isn't on a stable foundation. It's propped up by band members, hostages, and coincidence. And there's no shortage of people working to pull it down. Treasurers, for example."

"And you."

"I'm not working to tear it down. I'm just a bystander, watching as it happens."

"That couldn't be farther from the truth," Mitzi snapped, her words dripping with venom.

"Oh, okay," Asa half-gasped as if in surprise, "you know what I think we need? Another lunch to discuss these things in person. Some things have changed, as you are wont to attest to, and I think a more pleasant, less vicious discussion is in order. Half-past noon. Whaddya say? My treat."

"You'll bring a couple of associates, I assume?" Mitzi recalled last lunch, with Mordecai having been brought.

"Why, I don't see why I can treat my employees to a nice lunch."

"Alright then, you can treat a couple of mine, can't you?"

Through nearly gritted teeth, in the face of Mitzi's self-assurance, he agreed, "I can."

"Great."

"Well, find us at the same place as last, doll." With the door to his office opening, him looking up to see Nico standing in the doorway, he finished off with a nearly solemn, certainly disgruntled, "I look forward to seeing you again." And he hung up.

Mitzi set down the phone and began to gather up a couple of associates. A tiny bit of deliberation, and she descended down from her tenement to find them. Rocky would be busy watching Mordecai, as he had been. Besides, she saw it a good opportunity to bring the recently somewhat mobile Viktor as a reminder of the Lackadaisy's firepower. And well, although he still was an awkward and not exactly threatening-looking kid, Calvin had proved himself useful a few times already. And without anything else to do, she might as well bring him out to lunch.

Returning to the Bevo Mill, Mitzi made her way to the seating and found Asa easily. Freckle had been here too, of course, and, for some reason or another, felt himself more in the mood to tackle a serious discussion about inter-speakeasy rivalries. Maybe it was because Rocky wasn't there. Maybe because he'd just recently taken on Drago. Or perhaps because he'd been involved in more shootouts and the like. Regardless, he felt surprisingly at ease. And Viktor, well, Viktor was still limping, still having trouble with stairs. But even with the setbacks he had, the injuries upon his person, he was still a threatening-looking individual. Threatening enough that he registered a near-instant reaction on Asa's face as he appeared and sternly approached the table. It was subtle and disappeared quickly, but he saw it. It was a good sign; he was still a threat when he wanted to be.

And sitting at the table already, was Asa, cigar in mouth, with a glass of water set before him. At his immediate left, Nico. He sat a bit back from the table, with room for his left leg to be resting on his right, perpendicular. He wore a dress shirt, top button undone, sleeves rolled up. He watched the group as they arrived, subtly smiling, leaning back. And at his side was Serafine, who was smiling a bit too eagerly as she watched the group draw near. She took a quick sip of water and returned the glass to the table. She wore a suit perhaps a tad too fancy for the lunch, with her hair combed back and makeup adorning her face. Pinned to the lapel, a titular marigold. Three empty seats were already at the table, and the group was seated. Mitzi sat across from Asa, with Viktor sat beside him, and Freckle between the two of them.

"Hello again, Asa," Mitzi greeted.

"Nice to see ya again, Mitzi. How's it going?" Asa smiled, a tinge of condescending attitude and annoyance creeping in near the end.

"It's good. Profitable. Despite some attempts at intervening," Mitzi picked her gaze up from the menu for a moment and glared at Asa.

"Well, whoever's doing that probably has your best interests in mind, you know."

"Doubtful."

The table was silent for a short period, with Mitzi looking at the menu, keeping quiet to assert authority over Asa, consciously or unconsciously. Freckle, taking only a second to watch the two, seeing that nothing more was happening and then looking down to the menu. And Viktor, who stared with a blank, or possibly discontented expression, towards Asa. Then, Asa piped up. "So, I see you haven't brought Mordecai with you."

"Well, why would I? He's plenty busy in captivity," Mitzi stated. That got a very slight, restrained reaction from the table, for varying reasons. "And who are these two, that you've brought in his place?" She gestured towards the Savoys.

"Ah, well this here is—"

"Nico," said Nico, giving something of a casual two-finger salute.

"Serafine, cher," smiled Serafine.

"Yeah, that's them. Siblings. And they should plenty stand in for Mordecai, as it were, Mitzi," Asa mentioned.

"I suppose they should. Good to meet you, then," Mitzi replied.

Freckle didn't notice he was staring at Nico until Nico looked at him and gave him a smug, yet vaguely threatening glare. He immediately looked down, returning to his menu, feelings of awkwardness engendered. His voice. His face. Freckle could even swear he saw something of a small, mostly healed cut on his head. Where Rocky had hit the intruder that night some days ago with a bottle. This was the intruder. This was the guy who tried to shoot both of them.

After another quiet minute or so, right as Mitzi was about to begin talking again, a waiter came over and took orders. Further than they had gotten with the last Asa-scheduled lunch, despite the increased tension. A few sandwiches, some soups, some pasta. Viktor didn't make it easy for the waiter, having not even taken a glance at the menu. The new three were given glasses of water, upon their requests. But when said and done, with the waiter out of earshot, Asa began to speak.

"So, I think we oughta talk about the reason we're here in the first place; you need to stop going through with this charade, Mitzi."

"It's a charade, is it?" Mitzi wondered.

"_Yes._ It is. You've got the illusion of prolonged profit, of success, but you don't. You have another unnecessary foray into this dangerous line of work, when what you should be doing is returning to your café and steer clear of bootlegging. It's dangerous, doll, let me tell you."

"You think I don't know that? I'm plenty aware."

"You don't act like it. You act like you think you can get away with everything you're doing. That nothing'll come back to bite ya. That you can ride the wave of coincidence and accidental success to a stable and prosperous business. But you can't. I _know_ you can't."

"Your metaphors are just to hide your nervousness, Sweet."

Viktor continued to glare at Asa. Nico stared at Freckle, in an effort to scare him, and Freckle kept looking off to the side as if he didn't notice Nico's gaze. Serafine watched the argument with interest.

"Nervousness? There's no nervousness. My business has been, and still is, doing well, and—"

"So is mine."

"_And,_" Asa continued, "yours _isn't_. Not for long, anyways. Profit will diminish. Things will come back to bite you. People will get hurt."

"Stop pretendin' you care about what happens to me, just say what you really mean."

"Hmm, I guess we are past that point, aren't we?" Asa smiled weakly. "Well then— shut down Lackadaisy."

"So you've been saying."

"Your business is encroaching on our patrons and on our profits. And your business's messiness is the last thing we need right now. The Feds are on the lookout for any speakeasies, as you should know, and any loose ends, or, say, _hostages,_ you might have are a threat to everyone."

"Threat to you, that is. We've gotten the feds off of us, and our hostage is only a detriment to you, who relied on him for his skill. Now we're holdin' him. And you're not. We have growing profit. And you're losin' profit. It's going well for us, Asa."

"You know, you're being awfully confident for someone whose entire livelihood is out of their hands."

"That's not the case. Not at all."

"I beg to differ. You have only th—" Freckle, in trying to set down his glass of water, ended up putting it down at an angle, on his silverware, and before he could reach for it and keep it from tipping, it fell on its side. The nearly full glass spilled water across the table. It fell away from him, and splashed towards Nico, on the opposite side of the table. Dripping onto Nico, he immediately pulled his leg back to the ground and stood up. Nico and Asa started to soak up some of the water with their napkins, with Nico trying to dry his pant legs.

The waiter came by, working to clean up the water, supplying new napkins, as well as stating that he would be getting them a new tablecloth, seeing how the last one had been soaked. Freckle certainly felt sorry, spilling his water. But he sent a message to Nico. He could see when Nico, dabbing at his pant leg, shot Freckle an annoyed glance. So, in a way, Freckle had succeeded, in a minor sort of way. He had sent Nico a message, indirectly, of course, that he wasn't just passive and awkward. Even if it had been an accident.

A few minutes later, the tablecloth replaced, Nico's pants mostly dry, the table dried, and everyone settled again, Asa sighed and took a sip of his water. "Well, what was I saying?"

"Some sort of complaining," Mitzi said.

"Complaining? It's not complaining, it's a warning."

"I got the warnings, Asa; what's the point? What do you want us to do?"

"Alright then, I want you to, no, _demand_ that you—" And just then, the waiter returned with a tray. Stopping Asa mid-sentence, the waiter began to set down plates of food. Apologizing for the spill, asking if anyone needed anything else, making sure that everyone had everything they ordered, and then wishing that they have a good meal before leaving.

And that shut Asa up for a couple of minutes; this _was_ his lunch, after all. There was quiet whispering within each group, with Mitzi whispering or muttering things to Viktor and Freckle, and Asa, Serafine, and Nico quietly talking amongst themselves. But with the lunch in front of them, as well as the tension between them, there wasn't really any talking between the lot of them for a little bit. But after Asa had eaten some of his lunch, he used a napkin to wipe his mouth, took a sip of water, and piped up again.

"Well Mitzi," he began, "what I've been trying to say is that you're gonna stop. Stop the whole operation. Close down the speakeasy."

Mitzi swallowed her food and scowled slightly, "You want it closed? Completely?"

"Utterly. Don't open back up for business. Stick to your café, if you want to."

"I'm not gonna do that, Sweet."

"Yes, you will. Because if you don't, we're gonna have some big problems." Asa stopped talking and then opened his mouth to quickly add something, "No, you know what, I won't sugarcoat it; if you open for business tonight, the two of us are gonna be in direct opposition. And things are going to get violent." It was rather direct.

"And that's a threat?"

"That is a _fact! _It's not just a threat— it will happen if you sell even one more_ drop_ of booze." Asa kept quietly restrained, yet firmly angry, for the second half of his reply.

"So if we open, you'll attack?"

"If you open, then by god it's war."

Mitzi deliberated for a moment. And then, confidently, "We have no reason to stop. Business is good, and your scare tactics won't work. And we can resist any 'war' you start. So back off."

Freckle seemed a tad nervous, although his extreme interest in the exchange hid it. Asa quickly gained a furious countenance. With more of a forceful voice than a loud one, "You do it, Mitzi, and there's no going back!"

"Back to what? The same hatred and violence, just less apparent?" Mitzi stood up for her seat. "You're just as brutal as you say you'll be— you just lie about it. And we've been so far."

"Has Atlas?"

Mitzi was silent for a moment. "Boys, come on. We're done." She turned and began to leave. Viktor, barely a moment of hesitation, stood up and began to walk away, Mitzi doing the same already. Freckle took one last look back at the other three at the table. Asa, furious, stared at Mitzi. Nico and Serafine watched, still looking smug. He stood up and hurried towards the others.

"You open for business, and you'll wish you never had!" Asa almost shouted.

And they left. Returning to the car, Mitzi seemed nearly exhausted. She looked nervous and perhaps even sad, to a degree. And so they made their way back to the Little Daisy, having been warned. It was a credible threat. And perhaps Mitzi had downplayed the Marigolds too much. As it were, only time would tell.


	32. Battle Cries

**Happy one year anniversary of this story!**

* * *

That night was punctuated with live music and a satisfying number of patrons. The Lackadaisy felt, more than it had in a long time, alive. And Mitzi was reassured in her decision to go again what Asa had demanded in those few hours. Mordecai was safely locked up in the storage closet. Freckle was occupied with getting drinks to the patrons, something that he seemed to be picking up quickly. Mitzi swore she had seen him attempt some flourish and fancy out of the corner of her eye. Viktor was keeping everything secure and locked down. and Rocky was, despite Zib's absence, keeping the music flowing and the mood up. It was almost like old times.

So it wasn't really a surprise that she got a call from Asa the next morning. Perhaps the biggest surprise was how early he called. Mitzi dragged herself to the phone and put the receiver to her ear, expecting nothing less than a rant from Asa after she completely ignored what he had said the day before.

"Mitzi," Asa said.

"Asa," Mitzi half-mumbled.

"How was last night?"

"Fine. Good. Tired now."

Asa quietly chuckled in a very fake way, clearly internally enraged. "Yes. Now, you remember what I told you at lunch?"

"That we'd go bankrupt or that we had to be afraid of you?"

"I told you not to open last night." Asa cut right to the point, done with games.

"And?"

"_And, _you did." He paused. "I am past the point of fun sarcastic flirting or whatever it is that you do. I—"

"And you haven't been doing the same thing? 'Flirting?'" She was mildly disgusted by the assumption that it was flirting, putting extra emphasis on the titular word.

"I'm done with it. I'm done. I've tried to guide you where you ought to go, and I've tried to persuade you. And now, I've threatened you multiple times, and you still disrespect me and put you and all of your _cohorts_ in danger. In my way."

"In your way? _You've_ been the one in _our _way! You were the one who monopolized all our bootleggin' sources! Now you're mad simply cause we're gettin' back what you took from us? You're pathetic."

"Ho, now you're a piece of work. You think that I'm pathetic? Take a look at yourself, sweetheart— you're working out of a moldy basement, using band members as gangsters, too proud of yourself to let go of a guy that _you,_ yourself, said you had no need for? Too full of yourself to step back or stand down? Too ignorant to understand that you've made a really dumb mistake?! I ought to have you killed right goddamn now!"

"Slow down. Cool off. And shut your damn mouth, Asa. You need to understand that sometimes things are different than you think. Can't you see past that fat nose of yours? Cause it seems like, from where I'm sitting, you're gettin' worked up over things that aren't true."

"I don't even know why I called you, May. I should've known that the only thing you'd be able to offer up would be more disrespect. You know, you should consider yourself lucky, being alive right now. Best of luck." And with his wrath mutating into a surprisingly restrained disdain, he hung up.

Mitzi sat there for a minute, her heart rate quickened with anger and her mind racked with anxiety, and then she sat down the phone. She stood up, straightened herself out, dusted herself off, and walked out of her office, done with business for the time being. She would have to sort out what to do about that call before nighttime came.

A couple of floors farther down, with stakes much lower and feelings much calmer, Rocky and Mordecai were alone in the speakeasy. Freckle was with Ivy in the café, and Viktor was resting, closer still to recovery. And within that cool, quiet space, while Mordecai wasn't locked within a closet, he could nearly relax. Rocky was with him in the main area of the speakeasy, certainly confident enough in his trust of Mordecai so as to let him be, practically without Rocky's supervision, notwithstanding Mitzi's directions. Rocky was sitting upright on a leather couch, only recently purchased, and was facing Mordecai, who was sitting at a table, with the chair turned around towards Rocky.

"How many people would you say were there, then?" Mordecai inquired.

"Hmm, maybe twenty? Thirty? More? I don't know, I wasn't on stage the whole time. But it was good! Everyone's getting paid and Miss M. doesn't seem to be mad or anything, so," Rocky trailed off slightly.

"Really? So this place is still making a profit?" Mordecai gestured to the room entombing him.

"Apparently. More than it was before, definitely." Rocky leaned back against the couch, stretching some.

"Well, I'll admit: I'm a bit surprised."

"Why's that?" Rocky groaned, arching his back, still stretching.

"I didn't think that it had stood much of a chance after Atlas died. I suppose I might have been wrong." Mordecai thought back to his departure. His thoughts of joining the Marigolds, his arguing with Viktor, all of it.

"Maybe. But we'll have to wait to find that out, won't we?" Rocky smiled at Mordecai.

Rocky's lighthearted attitude served to bring Mordecai's attention, at least somewhat, away from his memories, and he replied simply, "I suppose so." Then, clearing his throat. "Might you be able to get me some water?"

"Yeah… but you're gonna have to come with me, okay?" Rocky said, knowing he'd have to go upstairs.

"Hm, alright." Mordecai stood up as Rocky rose from the couch. And the two headed for the garage; since the café was open, they'd have to take the long way around.

Ivy looked up to see Rocky as the door opened, with Mordecai behind him. Freckle turned and looked, too. Rocky came up to the counter and sat down, with Mordecai standing at his side, next to Freckle. As Freckle eyed Mordecai, Rocky smiled and said, "Just some water, Ivy." And after a beat. "Coffee too, actually."

"Both for you?" Ivy asked, dawdling into action.

Pointing to Mordecai with his thumb, "The water's for ol' Mordy."

Immediately, before Ivy could respond, Mordecai interjected with, "Don't call me that."

"Oh. Well, what about just 'Mord' then?" Rocky continued.

"No."

"Mo?"

"Certainly not."

"Just M?"

"What? No."

"Just silence? The sound of a slow breeze calls you by name?" Rocky teased.

Mordecai sighed, perhaps stating his own name, and Ivy came by and set down the glass of water in front of him. Ivy joined in, lingering at the counter for a moment, "Well, what about making it longer?"

"Oh! Mordecaiolas!" Rocky shouted.

"Wretched," Mordecai stated.

"Mordecaibert?"

"I'm done with this game."

"Mordecaixender?"

"Here's your coffee," Ivy said, setting a mug down in front of Rocky.

"Thank ya, Ivy," Rocky nodded, slurring his words together with a strange half-accent. And then the both were silent for a moment, nearly the first time since Rocky had first walked in, as the two drank their respective drinks.

"So, Freckle, I never got a chance to ask you— how was that lunch yesterday?" Rocky leaned to the side and asked past Mordecai.

"Uh," Freckle looked over, "it was kind of a lot."

"Yeah, I talked to him and Viktor about it— apparently there was a lot of screaming and arguing. Asa threatened us, and told Mitzi not to open last night," Ivy gossiped, leaning on the counter.

"Us? What, all of us?" Rocky wondered.

"Our whole, um, group," Ivy elaborated by means of euphemism.

"So you think he really means it? Is he gonna follow through with it, then?" Rocky questioned, directed more at Freckle.

"I don't know. Probably?" said Freckle.

"What do you think, Mordecai? You've worked with him for a while."

Ignoring the part of him that still pledged allegiance to the Marigolds, which urged him to not give away truthful, helpful information, and siding more with the part of him that still questioned his allegiance, he responded, "He means it. Asa's been extremely angry about what Mitzi's been doing for a while now. He'll probably send people over to try and ruin this place."

"Huh. I guess stopping that is what we'll be doing tonight, huh, Freckle?"

"Yeah, I guess," Freckle muttered.

And the four continued talking for a while, Rocky, Mordecai, and Freckle at the counter and Ivy behind it, occasionally doing things for the café customers. It was nice. Although, Freckle continued to eye Mordecai, yet still uncertain about how he felt about him. Eventually, the two finished their drinks and the group finished their conversations, and Mordecai and Rocky returned to the depths.

Later that night, Mitzi directed some of her, as Asa so disdainfully said earlier, cohorts, so as to keep things civil that night. Viktor had, however, been groaning and grunting after straining himself, and Mitzi was fairly sure he had reinjured himself. So, not wanting Viktor to reopen his wounds or anything like that, had neglected to ask him to stay around. So, instead, she would be relying solely on Freckle and Rocky. Freckle was good, but Rocky? He had a bad track record. But, she would have to make do with what she had.

Freckle was at the bar, seeing as he was pretty good at it, and when he was dressed nicely, he fit the part, too. He had a gun on him, essentially serving to protect the speakeasy if anyone from the Marigolds came through the café entrance. And Rocky? Well, Mitzi had given him a gun and ammo. She told him only to use it if absolutely necessary, and that it would be better for him to get his cousin instead of trying to shoot them. Mitzi was nervous, but Rocky took the gun and seemed alright. He didn't shoot himself while he walked towards and through the tunnels, so that was a good start. And as it were, Rocky let Mordecai out from the storage room and took him with him into the garage. Mitzi didn't notice.

And she was in the speakeasy, conversing with patrons. And although the band was even more short of people now, and although stakes were high, with the Marigolds having practically declared war, Mitzi felt assured that things would go well. Spirits were flowing, and so, as a result, so was money. And Asa wouldn't try anything. Probably.


	33. Left-Handed

"What's going on, then?" Mordecai wondered.

"Miss M. wants me and Freckle to protect the speakeasy in case Asa sends people over to attack us," Rocky explained.

"Is that why you have that?" Mordecai pointed to the gun Rocky held in his right hand.

"Oh, uh, yeah." Rocky held his hand up. He held the gun by its barrel, his fingers nowhere near the trigger. "I'm not really sure I can use it well, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Last time I can remember using a gun, I did this." He pointed to his left ear— the one which he had shot in the past.

"Hmph. On purpose?"

"No, of course it wasn't on purpose." Rocky very lightly pushed Mordecai. The two were a few feet apart from each other, Rocky leaned against the car in the garage. Mordecai simply stood in front of it. The light was on in the room, although it was still a bit dim.

"Well, why do you have a gun now?"

Rocky sighed. "Viktor reinjured himself, I guess, so Miss M. needs me to be the one who watches over the garage while Freckle stays in the speakeasy, serving drinks and all that."

"What did Viktor do?"

"Oh, I don't know. Reopened his wounds maybe? Slipped? I'll ask Miss M. later."

"Alright then. Do you think that you can use a gun again?"

"No," Rocky stated

"Did you tell Mitzi that?"

"No," Rocky groaned.

"Why not?"

"If I didn't do it, who would?"

"I know how to use a gun."

"Well, yeah, obviously. But she doesn't trust you. You know that."

"I suppose I wouldn't either." Mordecai muttered, practically an aside. He stepped forward. "Here, I'll attempt to teach you how to use that gun."

"You think you can?" Rocky stood.

"Yes. It's not too difficult."

"Alright, sure. Show me." Rocky handed Mordecai the gun.

For a split second, Mordecai thought about how he could escape so easily in that moment. He had a gun, and Rocky didn't. He was alone, far away from anyone who could oppose him. The door out was right there! But he pushed that thought from his mind. Instead he looked at the gun. He looked at… _his _gun.

"Mitzi gave you this?" Mordecai asked.

"Yeah! Why?"

"This is my gun— the one she took from me some weeks ago."

"Oh. Weird."

"This is a left-handed gun, Rocky."

"There are left-handed guns? I had no idea."

"Are you left-handed?"

"No, I'm not."

"Why in the world would she give you a left-handed gun, then? Or my gun, for that matter?" Well, Mordecai had stolen all of their guns only a few days before his capture. Maybe that was why. But if business had been doing so well, couldn't she buy more? Mordecai stopped thinking about it.

"Uh, I don't know. What happens if I use a left-handed gun?"

"Not too much. It might just be easier to use it left-handed. Or you can use it in your right hand, although it might be a bit harder to do."

"I doubt I'll be better with either my right or my left hand."

"Well," Mordecai handed Rocky back the gun, "Go ahead and aim at…" Mordecai looked around. "that box." Mordecai gestured to a small box sat upon a shelf.

"Uh, okay." Rocky started to move. "Should I shoot it, then?"

"I don't think that's a good idea. If your cousin hears it, he'll come in here thinking someone's breaking in. I would prefer not to be shot by him."

"Huh. Yeah." Rocky adjusted himself and ended up stood normally, holding the gun with one hand, maybe a foot in front of him, aimed vaguely at the box. It was an obviously bad way to hold the gun.

"Hm," Mordecai judged.

"'Hm?' Oh, no. That's not good."

"No. It's not." Mordecai walked in front of Rocky, who looked at him with concern as Mordecai further observed how he was stood. The Mordecai walked behind Rocky. "Stand with your feet at shoulder width; keep your feet facing forward."

Rocky repositioned himself, doing as Mordecai had instructed. "Like this?"

"Yes. Bend your knees slightly." Rocky did so. "Bend forward."

"What? Like this?" Rocky bent at a nearly ninety-degree angle. He was clearly not being genuine, but… no, he wasn't being genuine, surely. He didn't think that that could have been correct.

"No, no. Stand up." Rocky stood up completely straight. "Like this." Mordecai put his hands on Rocky's hips. He was bony, yet warm. Mordecai was stood behind Rocky, holding him as Mordecai tried to guide him through using the gun. In that closeness, with that touch, Mordecai realized just how much he was pining for Rocky, and in an instant, Mordecai's perception of the issues that had clouded his mind in the past week changed. Rocky was warm. It felt nice. But Mordecai continued on and bent Rocky forward slightly at the waist and quickly withdrew his hands.

There was a tangible silence that permeated the garage for a moment. The two simply didn't have anything to say for a second, simply existing in what had happened. Then, "Uh, what next?" Rocky, somewhat nervously, half-smiled.

"Hold the gun with your left hand, put your right hand on over that," Mordecai muttered. Rocky seemed confused for a moment. Mordecai stepped around Rocky and slowly repositioned his hands on the gun, holding Rocky's hands in his hands. He held the gun in the proper way then. Mordecai looked up, as did Rocky. Looking into each other's eyes for an awkward, hurried second before they pulled back and Mordecai took a step backward. He cleared his throat. "Hold the gun up at arm's length and aim at the box."

Rocky took aim at the box. Mordecai could clearly see that if he pulled the trigger, he would miss by several inches. Stepping to the side, Mordecai grabbed the end of the gun and gently repositioned it. "Look at the front sight, at the end of the gun. Use that to aim at the center of the box." Mordecai pulled away. Rocky observed what Mordecai had done.

"This is good?" Rocky questioned.

Mordecai took another glance. "That's good."

"Do I have to do this every time I shoot at someone?"

"If by whatever means you get involved in a shootout, no. You probably won't be able to get into this exact stance, but remember to get as close as you can. Hold the gun in front of you to avoid the gun's recoil. Hold it with two hands, especially while you're new and using a _left-handed gun._ Keep control over the gun and make sure that you aim exactly where you want to shoot," Mordecai lectured.

"Where do I shoot people?"

"Do you want to kill them?"

"Should I?"

"Probably. If you don't want to kill people, you should shoot for lower arms and lower legs. They'll most likely stop shooting at you and can survive if they get medical assistance." Mordecai thought back to the very similar thoughts he had had while aiming at Viktor. He shuddered slightly, but talked through it. "But if you don't kill them, they can still be a threat if they're hellbent to kill you, and they'll shoot you through their own pain and blood loss." Viktor sprinted through the complete destruction of one knee, and it took the other getting shot to topple him. Mordecai didn't want to think about that. "If someone breaks in here, it might be better to shoot with the intent to kill."

"Where do I aim for that?"

"Between the collarbones," Mordecai gestured on his own body with his hand, "down to about the sternum." He mimed a triangle on his chest, going from left clavicle to right, down to the sternum, and back up to the left.

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Your heart and all that stuff's there."

"Indeed."

"Can I… stop standing like this?" Rocky was still standing with his feet apart, arms outstretched towards the box.

"Yes. I don't know why you didn't stop earlier." And with Mordecai's lesson finished, he and Rocky continued talking. Rocky set the gun aside, and it wasn't brought up again. The two simply began conversing as they did whenever the two of them were together with nothing much else to do. It was nice for them to talk to each other, though, of course, and they probably would be conversing even if there were other things to do.

It was nearly an hour later, with the two playing with a pack of cards they had found on one of the shelves while sat on crates against the wall, with another one serving as a table between the two of them.

"So what did he actually say?" Mordecai wondered.

"I've got no idea. Something about that cake, but how was I supposed to know what he said? I mean, even if he hadn't been mumbling it, his tongue had still been stung by a bee," Rocky continued.

"I faintly remember being in a situation that wasn't too unlike that. I think—" There was a clang coming from one of the garage doors.

"What was that?" Rocky looked at the door itself. It sounded like something metal had hit it. "Did something fall off or something?"

"I hardly think that th—" There was someone in the small window in the door. They looked in, and peeping up beside them was a large gun. Perhaps a rifle of some kind. "Oh no." Mordecai stood and Rocky jumped up off of the crate and grabbed the gun, feeling it integral to defend the garage, himself, and Mordecai. Adrenaline began to course through his veins.

The door was beginning to be opened. Mordecai saw Rocky with the gun and began to quickly repeat what he had said earlier as a refresher right before the intrusion. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Gun arm's length in front of you. Focus on the front sight. Put your finger on the trigger. Aim for the upper chest."

Rocky adjusted himself as each command was sternly listed out. The door burst open, and a large grunt holding some sort of hunting rifle rushed in, aiming at Rocky. Rocky pulled the trigger before the other could aim past the door, and Rocky's bullet landed right below the base of the neck, slightly to their left. The intruder nearly immediately collapsed, dropping the gun. A pool of blood was forming quickly on the ground.

Rocky looked aside and released his held breath. "That wasn't diffi—"

"There are more," Mordecai pointed to the door, quickly.

Rocky looked back, and indeed, there were more. Another simply stepped over the man on the floor bleeding out and brandished a Tommy. Rocky hastily put himself back in position and aimed again. Mordecai was sat nearly behind the car, trying to avoid being shot. Rocky landed a shot in the right shoulder of Tommy guy, and he recoiled, nearly dropping his gun. As he moved to the side and tried to get out of the way of gunfire, another came from behind and aimed at Rocky's head. Rocky leaned to the side the moment he saw that. It missed, although it would have missed without Rocky moving, as it were.

With another shot, the third guy's neck was blown open, a bullet landing in his trachea. Rocky looked from him to a fourth guy. He took aim at Rocky's abdomen. His aim was off, and he only grazed the right side of Rocky's hip. It hurt, but with adrenaline, he didn't yet feel it. Instead, he pulled the trigger again and struck the arm of the fourth grunt, who flinched with a shout. He went back to the first guy who was taking aim again and hit him in the right thigh.

Rocky was managing the slow trickle of intruders through the bottleneck that was the small doorway. Mordecai handed him ammo that Mitzi had given him, and he ducked down out of the way of gunfire as he reloaded. As he popped back up, he continued to manage alright, only being grazed one more time, this time by his shin. he was considering himself lucky, through everything that was happening. The intruders were thinning and the ones that entered now were more apprehensive, with the remaining group nearing retreat before they entered the garage.

Mordecai watched on with anxiety as well as a sense of near-pride; Mordecai had prepared him to do all of these things. But he also saw as one of the last few grunts slipped past Rocky's attention and to the walls at the side of the room. He approached Rocky from the side, somewhat behind. Rocky couldn't see him, and the grunt's gun was drawn, pointed right at his heart. Mordecai stood up and grabbed a chair missing a leg from behind the car. He turned back around and with as much force as he could muster, smashed it over the head of the assailant. Rocky turned to see the grunt recoiling and no longer aiming at Rocky, who took the opportunity afforded to him by Mordecai to shoot him in the chest, square in the sternum.

It felt like forever had passed by the time it was all done, but it had not even been a minute. Rocky had gotten out of everything practically unscathed, and before him lie maybe ten dying or dead shooters. And by the flowers pinned upon their lapels, it was easy to see that they were Marigolds. The door was propped open by corpses in the threshold, and the blood puddle was yet still growing. So, while Rocky and Mordecai calmed down from what had just unfolded, they quickly realized that they would need to clean this up.

Just then, an utterly panicked Freckle popped up from the trapdoor in the garage. His gun was aimed out, and he was about ready to shoot at the pile of corpses until Rocky, winded, said, "Freckle?"

"Rocky?" Freckle blurted out, searching for the voice's origin. "What's happening?"

Rocky reached out and opened the trapdoor all the way. "Some Marigolds visited us."

"Is it done?" He began to step up the stairs, the steps which had been made slippery with blood that drained downward.

"Yeah."

"Are you okay?" Freckle asked, looking over the blood-spattered Rocky.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Both of us are alright." Rocky looked to Mordecai who was walking over from the side. Freckle looked at him as he appeared out of the corner of Freckle's eye.

"Everything's alright now? They're all dead? You haven't been shot?"

"I mean, there's this to deal with." Rocky gestured to the near pile of corpses. "And I think I might have actually been a little injured, now." Rocky's free hand went to his hip, which was bleeding. It could be seen through the small tear the bullet had created in the fabric of his clothes.

"Are you alright? Are you bleeding?" Freckle was getting nervous again.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good, Freckle," Rocky somehow smiled. "I'll be fine in a bit. You just go get Miss M. so we can deal with all of this, and I'm just gonna… sit here for a minute." Rocky slowly lowered himself onto the crate he had previously been sitting on with a groan. He was starting to feel the pain and notice the blood.

"Yeah. Okay." Freckle nodded. He looked over to Mordecai. With a disgruntled look, he stated, "Stay here." And Freckle went back into the tunnels to go get Mitzi.

Mordecai sat down back on the crate he had been sitting on. The cards between them were still there, although they now had drops of blood sprinkled onto them, blasted from the flesh of the intruders and flying across the room onto their game. Mordecai looked up from the cards to see Rocky, clutching his hip and wincing. "Did you get shot?"

"No, I don't think so. I think it just missed me," Rocky groaned. He pulled his hand away from the injury, revealing blood and a small, but significant, gash in his side. It seemed to miss any major arteries or veins. He probably wouldn't even bleed too much more. Rocky's hands returned to the wound. "And I think the same thing happened to my leg, too." Rocky extended his injured leg, revealing another ripped piece of clothing. Through the hole in his pant leg, Mordecai could see a slightly smaller gash in Rocky's leg. It probably didn't hit a major blood vessel, but Mordecai wasn't completely sure.

"Your hip hurts more?" Mordecai asked.

"Yeah. Why? Is my leg worse?" Rocky tried to get a good look at it.

"No, I don't think so. But there are more blood vessels down there. I think you'll be fine."

"I hope so. And I don't think I really wanna do this again." Rocky winced, then pulled a weak, yet genuine, smile. "Next time, you do the shooting."

Mordecai looked down slightly, feeling an empathetic, slightly anxious, and uncharacteristically genuine smirk form on his face. "That might be a good idea."


	34. Tired

The door to the car slammed shut and echoed through the empty street. He walked up the dark, cold steps and pushed through the front doors. He had already been told where to go, and found his way easily, passing by empty desks to arrive at a small office with its door ajar. Rapping his knuckle against the door, he leaned in. Sitting inside was the rugged federal agent he'd been looking for.

Dom looked up. He was tiredly writing out a report, drinking coffee despite the time of day, or rather, night, simply to stay awake through his writing. With a blank countenance, he said, "Sir?"

Having worked together the most concerned nervous expression, Nicodeme began, "There's shootin' down de street," with immense, but fake, anxiety.

Dom sighed. "Listen, kid; I'm not a police officer. Sorry, but I—"

"Mais, you gotta do someting— they're shootin' at de café."

Dom set down his pen. "Which one?"

Nico suppressed a smug smile. "Lil Daisy."

Drago darted his eyes from one side of his desk to the other for a moment before standing up. "Where? In the café or in the garage?"

"Don' know. De garage?"

"Alright." Drago stood up rummaged around on his desk, pulling out his gun from a drawer. He put it in his suit pocket. "Come here— I'm gonna lock up my office." Dom pulled out some keys as he walked towards the door. Nico saw him quickly stride out of the office from behind, looking at his trench coat flutter.

Nico followed, with Dom standing impatiently outside of the doorway. "What you gonna do?" Nico asked with a sort of feigned naïveté. He stared at Dom's determined face.

"Well, just investigation for the time being. Police'll get involved if I find anything." Dom locked the door to his office. He looked to the side at Nico, "What's your name, son?"

"Nico." Was there really a reason to hide his name? Well, there was, but did it matter? Besides, he didn't want to have to come up with and remember a fake name.

"Nico." Dominic repeated, "Good name." Dom put his keys back into his pocket. "Well, I need to get over there quickly, Nico, so if you'll excuse me." He began to leave.

Nico smiled, "Good luck." He watched Dominic rush out of the building from behind. The same trick had worked again.

Mitzi stepped up into the garage from the trapdoor. "Alright, already see blood." She looked up to the bodies. "How'd you do that, Rocky?" She looked over to Rocky and Mordecai. Mitzi frowned slightly when she saw Mordecai.

"Hi, Miss M." Rocky groaned.

Mitzi's eyes widened. She saw the blood on Rocky and saw him clutching his side, but upon hearing him straining through pain, she put everything together. "Oh, Rocky, did you get shot?" She sounded audibly worried.

"No, not really. I'm fine."

"Oh, god, you're not pulling a Viktor are you? Did you get shot or not?"

"No. It just grazed me."

"You alright then? You need anything?" She sounded a bit less worried now.

"Get him something to clean his wounds with and bandages," Mordecai answered for Rocky.

"Mhm. Well, why are you out here, Mordecai?"

"I didn't wanna sit in here alone," Rocky muttered.

"Mordecai's not some kind of con—"

Freckle appeared up from the trapdoor. "Everybody seems okay, but a little nervous. They're still buying drinks. Is that alright?"

Mitzi stated, "We'll talk about this later, Rocky." She looked over her shoulder at Freckle and replied, "That's good, sweetheart. Thank you. Go ahead and keep things in the speakeasy, if you would." Freckle nodded and returned back to the tunnel. "Alright, I'll get whatcha need, Rocky." She looked at him. "You still got your gun on you?"

"Mordecai's gun?"

Mitzi looked annoyed for a moment. "Do you have _the _gun on you?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'll be right back." She went into the tunnels.

Rocky continued to hold his side. There wasn't a ton of blood, but it had made the parts of his pants around the wound practically sodden with blood. Aunt Nina would probably have more questions for him than he could answer. The pain from both wounds continued to grow as time went on. Mordecai couldn't exactly do anything to help. And with what he had access to at the moment Rocky couldn't either. Fortunately, Mitzi soon returned with what would be needed to stop Rocky from bleeding.

"Here, Rocky. Start patchin' yourself up. Me and Mordecai are gonna start cleanin' this mess up," Mitzi instructed, handing Rocky a bottle of a clear liquid and some bandages.

"I didn't agree to that," Mordecai stated.

"I don't know how to do that," Rocky said at the same time.

Mitzi grabbed the bottle from Rocky. "Clean out your wounds with this, then bandage them up. Alright?" Rocky nodded slightly. She handed it back. "And Mordecai," Mizi looked at him, "you're a fan of cleaning aren't you?"

Mordecai_ was_ something of a pedant for cleanliness, and it would be fair to say that the pile of corpses was bothering him. But to be conscripted to clean? Well, he was, yet still, a captive, so he didn't have much choice. And Mordecai couldn't chance letting someone else clean up this mess; they just wouldn't do it right.

"I suppose," Mordecai yielded. Maybe he shouldn't have cleaned out the storeroom like he did, a few weeks ago.

"Good, I thought so. Well, I'll be right back." She descended back into the tunnels.

Rocky looked up from the bottle, not having deciphered what it was; the labels were worn and whatever letters he could make out formed no coherent words. Rocky looked at Mordecai, who was watching intently. "Lemme know if I start to do anything wrong." Mordecai nodded.

Rocky opened the bottle and was about to start pouring some onto his wound when Mordecai quietly interjected. "How are you going to put the bandages on?"

"Um, wrap them around my waist, I guess?"

"You can't do that over your pants." That was true. He could pour the contents of the bottle over both wounds through the tears that they had made in his pants, and he could probably bandage his leg up if he just rolled his pant leg up, but he couldn't bandage his hip through the small hole. Rocky hadn't thought about that. Maybe it was the blood loss.

"Oh, I see, you just want me to take my pants off," Rocky teased, trying to joke in an attempt to distract himself away from both his current pain and the anticipation of how he was about to patch himself up.

"That wasn't what I was saying." Mordecai was stern.

Rocky began to stand up, groaning as he did. "Well, I guess I _do _need to—"

"Don't just take your pants off!" Mordecai put his hand up to stop him.

"I was gonna go around the car and just pull my pants down to my waist. I'm not stripping down for you, Mordecai."

"Well, of course. But it seemed you were about to." The hand Mordecai had held up went to the back of his neck.

"No. Miss M. might've come back." Rocky winked. He started to limp around to the other side of the car.

Mordecai was nearly flustered. Rocky was flirting with him. And it was, perhaps exaggerating, exhilarating. He adjusted his sleeves and his glasses. Why was he acting like this all of a sudden? It gave Mordecai even more to consider in his already crowded mind.

Rocky leaned against the car, feeling the cool metal against his warm back. His leg stung. Or perhaps 'burned' was a better word. Regardless, it didn't feel great. He began to pull his suspenders off of his shoulders. Why was he being so coquettish? Rocky wasn't ready to show Mordecai how he felt! He probably never would be. He couldn't be letting on. Surely Mordecai would just make him feel like an idiot for even _feeling _like that. Rocky certainly felt like an idiot for flirting with Mordecai like that, even if it was a little fun. Rocky lightly hit the back of his head against the car and tried to stop thinking about it; he needed to pour an unknown fluid over his painful gunshot wounds and then bandage them up.

Mordecai heard the sound of Rocky's head hitting the car. "Everything alright?" Mordecai wondered, raising his head up.

Rocky flinched and unbuttoned the top button of his pants. "Yeah," Rocky called out. He quietly sighed. Rocky couldn't keep going on like this.

Rocky's pants were pulled down to slightly below his waist, and Rocky got a good look at the injury, although he still needed to clear the blood away to see how it really was. He repositioned himself, trying to get good access to his injury. Rocky opened the bottle, and with one hand he held his pants up below the wound, and with the other he began to pour some of the contents of the bottle over the injury.

It stung, the solution, but less than Rocky had thought it would. Given where they were, Rocky assumed that it was just alcohol— spirits of some kind, probably. But clearly, it wasn't. Biting his lip, he continued to wash away the blood, as well as soak his pants some. Looking at his side, it looked as if there was a small divot in the flesh. Not exactly getting shot, of course, but still, not great. It would heal, but it would probably leave a scar, Rocky concluded.

Rocky wrapped the bandages around his waist, having to adjust his underwear ever so slightly so as to get a tight wrap that didn't go over his clothes. Rocky was starting to have trouble thinking straight. Again, either blood loss or just general nervousness. The bandages were put on with little to no issue, and it seemed to cover the injury well. Only real way to know, though, was to wait and see if he got an infection or something.

Rocky put his pants back on, over the bandages, and pulled the dangling suspenders back onto his shoulders. There was no reason to keep behind the car now, so he limped back to the crates, catching Mordecai's attention, and fell back onto the crate he had been sitting on before.

"You're okay?" Mordecai asked.

"My leg hurts. I bandaged my hip," Rocky said, not answering the question in any real fashion. Mordecai stared at Rocky for a moment, then, with nothing much to say in response, looked down at the cards between the two of them. He had apparently been fidgeting with them, rearranging them.

Rocky began to roll up the pant leg that was in the way of the wound. It hurt, the fabric scraping against the wound as it went up his calf. He clenched his jaw and bared it until he had rolled it up high enough that he could go ahead.

Mordecai watched, although it didn't look like he was, as Rocky began to pour the solution over his leg in much the same way he had his hip. The blood was washed away, creating a small diluted puddle of blood on the floor. This injury also didn't look great, probably leaving a scar in the future. Rocky took the bandages as he leaned over, beginning to wrap them around his leg.

Upon finishing, Rocky, hunched over, looked up at Mordecai. "Did I do all of that right?"

Mordecai craned his neck and got a good look. "It would seem so."

Just then, Mitzi came back from the tunnels with Freckle behind her. They carried cleaning supplies, with Mitzi holding a mop and a couple of bottles. Freckle had a bucket of water and an unmarked, opaque container. Freckle set them down and went back into the tunnels. Mitzi set down what she had next to the other things and looked over to Mordecai and Rocky, who were silently watching. She spoke, "Mordecai, it's time to start cleaning."

Mordecai exhaled. "Of course."

"Start with the bodies in the doorway— get them out of the way and somewhere in here, for now. We need to get that closed and cleaned up as soon as possible. I don't want anyone comin' down the alley to see a pool of blood and see a pile of corpses." She picked up one of the bottles and a large rag. "I'm gonna start cleaning up some of the blood." She started walking over to the door. "This is gonna take a while, but you're not leavin' till we're done, okay, Mordecai?"

"I wasn't planning on sleeping tonight anyway, Mitzi." Mordecai began to roll up his sleeves as he walked towards the bodies. He looked over his shoulder at Rocky. "Apologies for getting blood on the suit, Rocky."

"Oh, yeah," Rocky snapped to attention, "yeah, that's fine. I've already bloodied up mine." Rocky half-heartedly smiled. He cleared his throat. "Um, should I do anything, Miss M.?"

Mitzi looked back at Rocky, then back at what she was doing. "If you think you can, Rocky, then join in whenever."

"Alright. Yeah, just… gimme a minute, then." Rocky leaned to the side, against the wall of the garage. He was just so tired. But he couldn't just sit around while Miss M. and Mordecai work to keep them from getting caught. It could take hours. And, really, Rocky was fine. He hadn't even really been shot.

Well, maybe he could just sit around for a few minutes.


	35. Rats

Mordecai shuddered as he shoved aside another grunt's body. The bodies weren't really the problem, neither was the fact that he was indirectly responsible for their deaths; it was how much he was dirtying up his clothes. His sleeves were bloody, as were his knees and his shoes. It was an overwhelmingly disgusting feeling, and an awfully insanitary position to be in. He would have to take a shower when he was done. Mordecai could only hope Mitzi would let him.

The bodies had been moved out of the way, though, and Mitzi quickly began to clean up and sanitize the doorway and the outside— that was the main priority, of course, because with it, anyone walking this way would immediately notice that there had been a fight of some kind. That wasn't the kind of attention they needed right now. Mordecai was busy with some of the menial labor that needed to be done as Mitzi quickly cleaned. Rocky still wasn't in a great condition, obviously, but offered to go fetch more cleaning supplies if they needed it. Mitzi let him know that they were fine right now and thanked him. With that, Rocky flopped back against the wall where he had been sitting before.

Freckle was managing the speakeasy itself, serving drinks and the like. Fortunately, nothing else was really happening— no disagreements or fights or anything that needed intervention, and no more Marigolds attempting an assault. So, it was actually quite calm. Nice, even. Of course he knew that the situation was a bit direr, especially back in the garage, but he was sure everything would be alright. It was just people enjoying themselves and getting drunk. Freckle wasn't exactly all for that, but it was certainly an appreciated break. But, just to make sure, he would go and take a quick break to go back and make sure everyone was good and ask if they needed anything. Freckle served the tipsy guy some more spirits, then slipped away and started walking back to the garage.

Mordecai looked down at his chest. There was even blood there. Mitzi saw him look down, seeing the dead Marigold on the ground beside him. She turned to him, continuing to scrub the wall, and asked, "You know him?"

Mordecai looked up, over at Mitzi. Then, back at the guy on the ground by him. "Him?" he wondered, pointing at him with a scarlet hand.

"Mhm."

"No, I don't believe so. I don't know any of these people; the Maribel employs a lot of people." Mitzi gave Mordecai the side-eye. Mordecai noticed. "That was just a statement, not a slight at your establishment, Mitzi."

"I never said I thought it was."

Mordecai exhaled. "Mhm." Then, reaching down and accidentally bumping into one of the grunts' bullet wounds with his bare hand, he let out a quiet, "Ugh."

"...You've handled plenty of corpses in the past, Mordecai. What makes this different?"

"Typically I wouldn't be this involved in the cleanup process. And if I did need to handle the bodies, I would have gloves and proper gear." And with scorn, "_And_ I would be able to take a shower afterward."

"You wanna take a shower? This late? In my house? I don't think so."

"Look at this suit!" Mordecai gestured to himself, "It's soaked through with blood! I can't keep wearing this."

"Well," Mitzi came back into the garage from the alley, shutting the door— the threshold was sufficiently clean, "you can change into something else in the storeroom before you go to sleep."

Between nearly gritted teeth, "I don't have any other clean clothes."

"Apologies for not providin' you with fresh linens, sweetheart, but you _are_ a—" There was a sound from outside, not far from the garage door. It sounded like a car door shutting. "There's someone outside." Mitzi stood up and locked the recently replaced garage door— the one that had a stray bullet hole in it already. Then she reached over and shut off the lights.

Apparently not fast enough. There was a knock at the door and a blurry, darkened, and otherwise indiscernible face behind the glass. Mitzi was stood back and to the side. Mordecai was on his hands and knees completely out of view.

No one did anything for a tense few moments that dragged on forever. They knocked on the door. "Hello? I saw you turn out the lights." No one acted still. "Answer the door." More silence. "Was that gunfire earlier?"

To that, Mitzi whispered across the room, "Rocky, go up and talk to that guy through the door; you don't have any blood on you."

With that, and with the feeling that he ought to be helping more propelling him into assistance, Rocky stood up and brought himself to the door. Rocky, indeed with no blood on him beyond what was noticeable by his wounds, which couldn't be seen from the small pane of glass in the door anyway, stood by the door and nearly blocked the glass with his face. Then, somewhat loudly, he talked through the door. "What do you want?"

"Ah. Hello. So, what's going on here?" the face asked, muffled and somewhat hard to hear on account of the door being in the way.

"Nothing. It's the middle of the night."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You can see the stars, can't you?"

They sighed. "No, I meant 'Really? Nothing's happening?'"

"Yeah. What are _you _doing?"

"Just, looking around." The face looked down for a moment. "So, uh, what's this, then?" Rocky heard the sound of a claw rapping against the metal of the door.

"What's what?"

"This hole, in the door." Pausing for just a beat, then speaking again just as Rocky opened his mouth. "You know, I heard a different story, with regards to this place." The face struck a match against its matchbox, illuminating the face in warm, dim light. The match moved to a pipe in their right hand. The lip of the pipe was in the mouth of a certain Dominic— not exactly a surprise to Rocky. "I heard that there was some shooting. And this looks like a bullet hole, Rocky."

Ignoring, or perhaps not even noticing the unprompted mention of his name, Rocky continued. "I wasn't shooting anything. And that's not a bullet hole."

"What, might I ask, is it then?"

"...Well, so there was some shooting. I was shooting rats."

"Rats?"

"Yeah, there were some rats in here. Don't wanna be blamed for a rat infestation."

"But a bullet hole is fine?"

"Well, I didn't plan on it. It was an accident, wasn't it?"

"I don't know— was it?"

"It was."

Drago sighed. "In case there was some kind of confusion here," Dominic held up a badge, "I'm here to investigate."

"Show that again."

Dom furrowed his brow, then held up the badge again, holding it up in front of the glass for longer this time. Rocky studied it.

"That doesn't mean anything. It doesn't have your name or anything on it. You could've just stolen it."

Dominic _did_ indeed borrow it from another officer, and it wasn't his. But that was beside the point. "Okay, how about this? I need to take a look at everything and make sure everything's alright, and if you don't let me in, I—"

"Need a warrant."

"Goddamnit, let me in! You just admitted to shooting, and you're gonna try and act innocent?"

"Ah. We were shooting _rats._"

"'We?' You were saying 'I' before? Who's 'we?'"

"Oh, uh, it was just me and…"

The hatch into the garage opened up, spilling light from the tunnels into the garage. Freckle cast a blurry shadow against the far wall. Mordecai and Mitzi turned and stared at him. Rocky glanced over his shoulder at him. Freckle, suddenly having everyone look at him in the dark, "Oh, uh, did you guys need anything?"

"...Calvin?" Dominic asked through the door. Dominic leaned closer to the glass, as if he could push right through it with enough willpower or force. "Calvin? What are you doing here?" He sounded personally upset, almost.

Freckle took a step closer, keeping the hatch open, somewhat illuminating the space, still. "Who's that?"

"Calvin, I told you not to come back here!" Dominic stopped. "Is that blood on the ground?"

"Rat blood!" Rocky interjected.

"Oh, um," Freckle hurried up the last couple of steps and let the hatch slam shut. The light disappeared. Mordecai stood up and, staying out of the line of sight, started sliding a crate in front of the door.

"Calvin, our deal is through!"

Mitzi turned to Freckle, suddenly feeling betrayed. "What deal?"

"Rocky told you about it, didn't he?" Freckle said, nervously.

"Who's that, now?" Dom loudly wondered.

"I did! Remember?" Rocky added. Mordecai stacked a second box on top of the first, with the crates between Rocky and the door.

"Oh," Mitzi understood now.

"I was wrong about you, Calvin. You're just as guilty as the rest of them," Dominic shouted over the rest of the noise.

"It was just rats!" Rocky argued.

"Yeah, and that's just bevo you're peddling in there."

"You know, if we were really gangsters, you'd be putting yourself in a lot of danger making all these accusations!"

"And you're putting yourself in a lot of danger lying to me!"

Mordecai, having strained, stacked the final crate. The window was completely blocked off. He fell backward and leaned against the wall, having tired himself.

Dom continued, "Fine then— don't let me in. We'll see how this turns out for you soon, won't we?"

The garage was silent as everyone stood there and listened. They listened to try and hear what Dominic was doing now. Rocky could hear his own heart beat in his chest. Mordecai could hear his own quiet, quickened breathing. And collectively, they heard the sound of the same car door slam shut. Then, the sound of the car's engine starting up. Then, the sound of the car driving away. Finally, after several more tense seconds of waiting, in absolute silence, the group took a breath and relaxed.

"Well. He saw a bullet hole in the door, knew about the shooting earlier, and saw the blood through the window." Mitzi summarized. Then, putting her head in her hand, "We're gonna get arrested."

"No, no! He didn't see the bodies. Besides, he still doesn't have a warrant," Rocky reassured.

"I can't imagine it'll be hard to get one after all that!"

"He didn't take any pictures or get a, uh, testimony or whatever."

"He's a police officer, isn't he? It won't be hard for him to get a warrant off of that alone."

"He's actually, uh, a federal agent," Freckle noted.

"Well, that's hardly better. So he's a police officer that specializes in stopping bootlegging? The thing that we _do_ here?" Mitzi reacted.

"Well, if he hasn't been able to get a warrant with everything's he's learned so far, he won't be able to get one now," Rocky stated.

Mitzi exhaled, loudly. "Maybe so." She stood up straight. "Thanks for handling the situation, Rocky, even though you probably could've told some more believable lies. Freckle, go ahead and go back to the speakeasy; we'll handle everything here." Mitzi turned her head to Mordecai, who was adjusting his suit with his bloody hands, "And Mordecai," he turned to face Mitzi, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but— thanks for saving us just now. If you hadn't blocked off that door, he might've seen one of the bodies, and then we'd _really_ be in trouble."

Mordecai, of course, had just acted on a sudden impulse, fueled by adrenaline, but in his currently troubled perception of his own opinions, he simply had to rationalize it. Indeed, he had done what he had because he was starting to lean more and more towards the Lackadaisy, especially Rocky, but his allegiances still officially lied with the Marigolds, and his rational mind wanted it to stay that way. But, as he had thought about again and again in the past couple of days, his emotions were pushing against his rational thoughts, affecting him this much for the first time in a long time; the first time since his bygone relations with Viktor. And, consolidating his thoughts and rationalizing in a split second, explaining away his cognitive dissonance and increasingly fractured opinions, he simply said, "Well, if you lot were arrested, I certainly would be, too."

"If that logic keeps you from trying to get us arrested, then great— keep doing it. But for now," Freckle began to take his exit, and Mitzi continued, "we need to worry about cleaning up this crime scene. I'll deal with the bodies and figure out if I need to do anything about this guy tomorrow. But we're cleaning up the blood before you leave, and before you can go to sleep." She pointed to Rocky, and then to Mordecai.

It was about an hour and a half later. At this point, Mordecai was just covered in blood. It smelled of iron, and it left his fur matted and flattened down against his skin. And of course, he wasn't getting a shower, nor even a change of clothes. Rocky said he would bring some clothes over tomorrow, and that he would convince Mitzi to let him take a shower, though. But regardless, he was thoroughly uncomfortable, and would have to either sleep that way or strip down. While that would certainly resolve the blood issue, it would also leave him sleeping on the floor, bare. And if someone came in without knocking or while he was asleep? The thought had only crossed his mind and dissipated quickly. Yes, he would be sleeping in a bloody suit on the cold floor. It couldn't get too much worse than that, though, so perhaps things would be getting better soon.

The bodies had been set in a hidden away part of the tunnels between the speakeasy and the garage, by means of Mordecai. The blood had been cleaned and the now pink rags had been left with the bodies— also due for destruction. And now on Mitzi's plate for tomorrow were the bullet holes which needed patching, the bodies which needed disposing, and the federal agent who needed… well, something, probably. Regardless, the speakeasy crowd was dissipating out through the café, and the gang was ready to just leave. And so, they did, with Mitzi, Freckle, and Rocky leaving through the café. Mitzi went upstairs, planning to go to bed immediately, and Freckle and Rocky were homebound.

And yet, through all of this, Dominic sat in his car, parked down the street. He had driven around the block and parked back where he had been, almost exactly. And as the patrons left, and then as Mitzi and the two cousins left, he took pictures. Indeed, he gained photographic evidence of the suspicious activity going on at the Little Daisy. Would it be enough for a warrant or for an arrest? Probably not. But if he could just get access to the speakeasy and take a few pictures, then it would be over for them. And as it were, Dom didn't think it would take long before he did just that. Soon, there would finally start to be a collapse of the bootlegging operations in St. Louis. And although the Maribel was, of course, the grand prize, it would all start here, with the Lackadaisy.


	36. Still-Beating Heart

The next day, it was back to a regular routine for Rocky and Freckle. The damaged, bloody clothes had been dropped off to Aunt Nina, with an excuse about falling into the corner of a table, and the two were off towards the Little Daisy. They were tired, having not gotten enough sleep. But the two would be needed. Freckle was to assist in the disposal of those bodies from last night. And Rocky, well, he was to deliver fresh clothes to Mordecai. In fact, it was the same tweed suit from that first night Rocky had brought clothes; something that he regularly did now. And Rocky was also going to try and convince Mitzi to let Mordecai have a shower— he'd been stewing in other people's blood all night, after all. Regardless, they had things to do during the day, and they certainly had things to do that night.

The car pulled in front of the Little Daisy, and Rocky stepped out of the driver's seat and, with Freckle, the two began to enter Mitzi's tenement. Rocky led the charge, of course. And the two arrived to see the office's doors open, with Mitzi inside counting cash. That was a blunt statement on the past week if there had ever been one. Mitzi looked up as Rocky approached. "Yes?" Then she saw Freckle. She sat down the money she'd been flipping through and stood up, walking over. She was starting back downstairs, with Rocky and, more importantly, Freckle, following; it was time to deal with the bodies.

"Oh, uh, well it's about Mordecai," Rocky began.

Mitzi raised an eyebrow as Rocky began to follow the other two. "Go ahead."

Then, the three entered the garage through the alley. Mitzi clicked her tongue. "Sure, go ahead." Mitzi acquiesced as she began to pull open the hatch, "Just lock the front door behind you and make sure to stay nearby. I don't want him to do anything other than take a shower. And hold on to that gun you used last night— it's sittin' on the desk upstairs." All of them were in the tunnels, and the hatch closed behind them.

"He won't try anything," Rocky stated.

"You don't know that, Rocky."

"He's n—"

"I already said he could take a shower in my bathroom. You can argue on behalf of Mordecai later, just hang on to the gun in case he _does_ try something, okay, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, okay."

"Good," Mitzi smiled. "Go ahead and get him, then."

Rocky nodded and walked a bit through the tunnels to the storeroom. Rocky knocked on the door and waited for a moment. He adjusted the folded pile of clothes he had draped on his forearm as he stood there. Then, after a moment, from inside, Mordecai, nearly mumbling, yet raising his voice, asked, "Yes?"

"It's Rocky! Can I open the door?"

A quiet groan and the sound of shuffling. "Go ahead."

So, Rocky took the key and unlocked the door and opened it. Inside, Mordecai was still in the suit from last night, his eyes adjusting to the light; inside the storeroom was pitch black. "Morning," Rocky smiled.

"Hello." Mordecai yawned. "What's that you've got?" He pointed to the clothes Rocky was holding.

"Oh, well, I negotiated with Mitzi, and she'll let you take a shower upstairs. I don't have to sneak you in this time."

Mordecai exhaled, "Good. Because this is horrible." He gestured to his current clothes. He stepped out of the room and the two started walking back towards the garage.

As Mordecai and Rocky approached Mitzi, she spoke up, "Mordecai, before you take a shower, help out with these bodies here." Mitzi was trying to help Freckle get a body over his shoulders.

"Really?" Mordecai sighed.

"I'm the one with the bathroom. Help get these bodies into the garage," Mitzi stated, not necessarily with contempt, but certainly with authority.

Rocky awkwardly stood to the side as Mordecai reached down and grabbed one of the bodies and pulled the body, with a groan, over his shoulder and slowly began to walk towards the garage. Rocky suddenly ran up to Mordecai's side and followed. "Do you need me to help you?"

"No. It's fine. I'm taking a shower anyway. Don't dirty up a second suit."

"Oh, alright." Rocky walked alongside for a moment, then, as they approached the steps, he ran up ahead and opened the hatch for him. "This must sound weird, but, you're good at carrying a body." Rocky was a bit surprised, given how Mordecai looked, how well he was managing with practically twice the weight.

"Well, I suppose that just comes with the line of work." Mordecai dropped the body onto the floor in the garage and let out a breath. "All I need to do is not collapse under the weight and I'll manage."

"Uh, I guess," Rocky muttered as they began back down the stairs, Freckle and Mitzi carrying a body between them passing them as they did. Well, was that all that was really to it? Mordecai was obviously more of a beanpole type, but was he actually stronger than he let on? He had struggled with those crates the other day though, so… Rocky didn't know. Hell, maybe he'd been doing push-ups in his spare time in the storeroom. Or maybe it _was _that easy to carry a body over your shoulder.

It didn't take long for the bodies to be moved into the garage, next to a truck. There was trash to be taken to a dump ready to be loaded into the truck. And behind that garbage, the bodies were to be loaded, hiding them as they drove to wherever Mitzi and Freckle were going to dispose of them. Rocky and Freckle didn't stick around to learn where that might be; Freckle claimed he could deal with the bodies from there, and Mordecai desperately wanted to get out of the bloody, sweaty suit he was wearing and change into something cleaner.

They walked out into the alley, with Rocky behind, and they walked around the café and into Mitzi's tenement. Rocky locked the door as Mordecai climbed the stairs, before following him up.

Mordecai waited at the top of steps, loosening his tie slightly, which had already been soiled and hardly needed to even be there. Rocky walked ahead and Mordecai came along. He set the clothes he'd been carrying on the couch and kept going towards the office, to retrieve Mordecai's gun for himself, as he'd been directed.

Mordecai knew where the bathroom was, and haphazardly grabbed the stack and nearly messed up the folding. Without looking, he stashed it under his arm and continued on into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. He set the clothes on the counter and began undressing, sloughing off the cherry red suit and tossing it into a small pile by the door. It wasn't his problem right now.

Silently, he set his glasses on the counter, atop the freshly cleaned clothes. And stepping into the basin, he drew the curtains and turned on the water. It didn't take long to warm up. Even though it had warmed up considerably since Mordecai had first been made hostage— it was officially summer, as of a few days ago, in fact, as Rocky had let him know— he hardly got to feel the warmth. He was never the _biggest_ fan of heat, but down in the ground, among the limestone, it was never quite warm. So, feeling the steamy, soporific stream of water against his matted, maroon fur was rather appreciated.

He methodically scrubbed against the aforementioned matted fur with soap, slowly covering every square inch of his body, with most of it being bloody, somehow. Mordecai hadn't even been the one injured, and yet it soaked through his clothes, all over. But at least he could finally clean it off.

Mordecai washed off the soap on his calf, pink water disappearing down the drain. With a sigh, he stood up straight and leaned into the stream of water, the liquid striking his face dead-on. It loudly dripped down onto the ground from his chin, and flowed in ever-changing streams down his neck, past his abdomen, and along his legs towards the drain. Mordecai pulled his face back from the stream and took a slow, deep breath, using his hand to sweep back the wet hair from his face back.

There were a lot of things going through Mordecai's head. Work was one— one that was quickly becoming an overwhelming conundrum that threatened to destroy his own internal logic. And while, on its own, it was one thing, it was intensely intertwined with the other big thing on his mind: Rocky. Rocky. Mordecai, at least part of him, couldn't help but wish that he hadn't gotten into Mordecai's head the way he had. The cold, distant poise Mordecai had sculpted to try and avoid being broken was just weakened by Rocky. His smile, contagious and radiant, was enough to infiltrate his defenses, and strike between his ribs, into his yet still beating heart. Mordecai shook his head into cognizance. No, he wasn't trying to be poetic, but it seemed that even _that_ was being influenced by Rocky.

How could Rocky even get in Mordecai's head so well? The two were utter opposites in many scenarios. He was energetic, loud, and unpredictable. Not to mention messy. But Mordecai was cold, composed, retracted, and calculated. How could Mordecai even _stand_ Rocky? And yet, here he was obsessing over him. It was an anomaly— an unlikely malfunction in Mordecai's own mind. But no matter how hard he screamed at himself, trying to put his brain back in check, he still found himself having feelings for Rocky. Wanting more of Rocky's smile. Yearning for him to keep talking. Practically lusting after him. Especially here, with the warm water streaming over every part of his body. Mordecai thought he had destroyed such feelings. Or, at least, that they had been destroyed— shot in the left once, then the right.

But there was nothing he could do. Such feelings were only growing with each passing day. Rocky's injury last night alone had nearly brought Mordecai to confronting his feelings. Seeing Rocky in action, taking a couple of shots in the midst. Rocky, injured, bleeding, even as Mordecai stood untouched. And the fact that he _flirted_ with Mordecai, striping behind that car. And yet, as one part of Mordecai viciously tried to discredit, ignore, and beat down such feelings, the other simply wished he had looked around the car.

There was a sudden knock at the bathroom door, making Mordecai flinch. From behind it, Rocky shouted, "It's almost been forty minutes. Are you okay in there, Mordecai?"

"Oh, yes, sorry. Just a minute," Mordecai responded, mildly embarrassed. He began to quickly finish cleaning himself up.

He shut off the water the instant he finished. Mordecai reached for a towel and began drying himself off, burying his face into it and ruffling his hair with it, then drying his arms, his chest, et cetera. And after a minute, he donned his glasses, knowing full well that they would be fogged up by steam, but needing them to see what he was doing beyond vague guesses.

Rifling through the stack of clean clothes on the counter, he quickly realized there weren't any pants there. He looked a second time, then relented and wrapped the towel around him, covering everything from his hips to his knees, and walked towards the door, keeping his right hand on the towel, keeping it in place. He moved the pile of bloody clothes out for the way and opened the bathroom door, releasing a lot of steam. He stepped out and looked to the side, seeing Rocky sitting on the couch, looking out a window. Rocky turned and saw Mordecai wearing just a towel.

"Uh, what do you need?" Rocky stumbled through his words.

"Pants," Mordecai declared.

"Um, yeah, I can see that." Mordecai caught Rocky looking down at the towel.

"No, I didn't have any in the bathroom."

"Oh, uh, I swore I grabbed some." Rocky looked around suddenly spotting them on the floor. "There they are, Mordecai."

Mordecai turned and saw them. Then, turning back, "Thank you." He leaned over and picked them up with his free hand. Rocky, with Mordecai bending over away from him, turned and blushed. Standing straight, Mordecai turned back to see Rocky turning red. "What?"

"Nothing, sorry, sorry." Mordecai tried to tighten the towel around his waist; it had loosened upon bending over. Rocky stared directly at the towel, blatantly looking at his crotch through the fabric, even though he tried to look like he wasn't. "Go get dressed," he stammered out.

Mordecai knew what was happening. It was fun, nice, even, in some regards, but he did need to get dressed, so stopping himself from further embarrassing Rocky, he went back into the bathroom and shut the door. And, after wiping the steam off of his glasses with the towel, began to get changed.

Mordecai hadn't settled on a solution to the conundrum he was facing, which he desperately wanted to do. Regardless of which way the cards fell, he just wanted to come up with some sort of solution, to put his mind to rest. So, as he buttoned his shirt, he decided that at some point in the near future, though at no specific, definite time, he would have a strictly work-based discussion with Rocky. It wasn't a solution, even that; it wasn't a decision between the two options, but it would let him perhaps do just that. With some advice from Rocky, maybe he could decide between aligning himself back with the Marigolds, or getting back with the Lackadaisy, if that was even truly possible. Mordecai would decide soon.

When Mordecai came out, Rocky had wiped all embarrassment from his face, as if nothing had ever happened. And after a quick detour to put Mordecai's gun back on Mitzi's desk, the two began to descend back down, out of the apartment, with Mordecai holding the balled up, bloody clothes.

Ivy was managing the café, as was rather typical. And Freckle and Mitzi had returned. Indeed, both the garbage and the bodies had been disposed of. And Freckle didn't seem especially bothered by it all. He seemed alright with what had happened. That was good news, right? And in the garage, the truck was being cleaned, and the bullet holes in the room were being sealed and covered. Rocky and Mordecai passed back through the tunnels into the speakeasy, where the bloody clothes were thrown aside, and the two could talk, with Freckle joining in for a while after a bit in the garage.

It had taken less than twenty-four hours, and yet the whole speakeasy was back to normal, as if nothing had ever happened. Mordecai had made Rocky replace his bandages, and he was healing well. The garage was clean and back in shape. Mordecai was no longer bloody and dirty, and everything was prepped for the establishment to open up again that night.

This whole 'war' business with Asa was easy enough, it seemed.


	37. Space Alien

Night arrived without difficulty. The café was the same as ever, and Ivy and the two boys assisted as unofficial helpers at times. And then, when the Little Daisy was practically cleaned out, and the sun had set, speakeasy patrons soon arrived. Rocky, Mordecai, and Freckle would, of course, be busy. Ivy had, for a couple of weeks now, agreed to stick around later than she might usually, to watch over the café. Partly because Mitzi offered extra pay, because she served as a useful sort of watch up on ground level, but mostly because it got her more involved in the whole bootlegging thing than if she were to go home and sleep early. She would have preferred to be down _in_ the speakeasy, but Mitzi let her come down when things were wrapping up.

Horatio had also been brought back when the speakeasy was evidently picking up again. He hadn't been furloughed per se, but he hadn't been brought in for a bit. He had been about to start looking for another, perhaps more legal job when Mitzi brought him back in. Doubtless, he was impressed to see how much things had turned around. His job was slightly easier and already somewhat done due to Ivy's presence upstairs, but he was useful regardless. And the band, even with Zib's prolonged absence, continued to play night after night, given the newfound business. It wasn't quite as good, missing Rocky, Zib, and without the occasional presence of Mitzi. But Mitzi promised they would be back in order soon enough. Besides, how could they argue with a paycheck?

And, to the surprise of just about everyone, bar the patrons, who hadn't been let in on any of the challenges befalling the Lackadaisy, that night was just as calm as the day preceding it. The boys guarded the various entrances, and yet that night there wasn't a single Marigold grunt sent their way. Rocky certainly appreciated it, given his still fresh injuries from the last gunfight. Mordecai too, for the same reason. And Freckle was glad that he still wouldn't have to deal with a whole brigade on his own; not that he couldn't handle that. And when the night wrapped up, the patrons, mostly drunk, shuffled up the stairs and out of the café. Ivy and Horatio took their leave, along with the band. Rocky put Mordecai back into the storeroom, and the cousins left together. Mitzi retreated to her tenement and quickly passed out.

The next day, the day continued like any other day in the midst of the war. One such event was the conversations between Rocky and Mordecai in the empty establishment. Mitzi had tasked them with doing some light cleaning while they were down there; there was a slight mess after the last night. The two were sweeping and tossing a couple of bottles left on the ground, like servants cleaning up after a lavish party in a mansion or something. Perhaps one on the east coast, like in New York.

"No, I don't do those sorts of things," Mordecai explained.

"Really? _None_?" Rocky asked, befuddled.

"None."

"Hmm. Well, next time, I'll have to come with you."

"Next time?" Mordecai grabbed a bottle from underneath a chair.

"Well, yeah. It happens every year. Unless you're, I don't know, a space alien."

Mordecai paused for a moment. He tossed the bottle into the bag beside him. Standing up, he quietly added, "Yes, next year."

Rocky stopped and looked back at Mordecai. Rocky was getting better at deciphering Mordecai's facial expressions, but he couldn't get this one. "Are you alright?"

Mordecai glanced up and met Rocky's gaze. Mordecai was alright. But he was thinking again. Next time. Rocky threw around the phrase 'next time' as if it was definite. But it wasn't. Rocky knew just as well as Mordecai that his plan was to go back to the Maribel after all of this. And with that, there would be no 'next time'. Most likely, they wouldn't even see each other again after that. And yet, Rocky promised to be around during Mordecai's next birthday so pleasantly content, so sure of such a thing happening. And such a thing would be nice. His feelings toward Rocky muddled his thoughts, as was usual now.

"Mordecai?" Rocky was starting to look worried.

Mordecai didn't realize how long he'd been standing there, staring off into the distance. "Oh, yes. Apologies." He wanted to disappear some of the distance, some of the coldness, and admit to Rocky that he'd love to have Rocky do that. But Mordecai wasn't ready for that; he had yet to make a decision on it. And Mordecai wasn't going to make such an important decision based on impulse. ...But, Mordecai could try _to_ make a decision. Indeed, he'd said to himself yesterday that he would have a conversation pertaining to work, and aligning himself between the two establishments with Rocky. With any conversation relating to fickle feelings being completely off the table anyway, and such thoughts already stuck in his head again, it was a good time to have such a conversation.

"I'm having trouble deciding whether to return to the Maribel after all of this." Mordecai admitted, "And the only other option in terms of speakeasies is, of course, here." He gestured with his hand to the space around him.

"...Oh?" Rocky wondered, pausing his sweeping for a moment, "Why's that?" He quickly spoke again, "That you're having trouble deciding, that is. Not that, uh, we're the other option."

"Well," Mordecai took a breath, "I hardly want to go back to working with Asa, or with the Savoys. Those three are nearly insufferable. And I don't know how Asa would respond if he were to figure out I assisted the Lackadaisy while I was a hostage. And that's without mentioning the possibility that you lot end up actually severely damaging the Maribel, against all odds, as seems possible right now."

"...Alright, well, what's making it hard to not go back, then?" He was standing upright, leaning on the broom very slightly. Rocky was paying attention. Completely.

"First of all, I have no idea how Mitzi would find it in her to let me back in. I've heard her talk enough about me since becoming captive to understand she can hardly hide her disdain. And that's without mentioning what awkwardness there would be regarding Viktor. We've made amends, granted, but that can't resolve everything. And what about what might happen with Ivy? She took the first opportunity we spoke to reprimand me for what happened with Viktor. And your cousin clearly has some level of distrust with me." He wasn't going to mention _why_ that might be, of course.

"Ah, well, Mitzi's been being _less _hostile recently. She might see that you're really not bad."

"Perhaps. But there's also the possibility that I choose to align with Lackadaisy, only for the Maribel to do well again, and I'm put back in the same situation that caused me to leave in the first place." Mordecai's mind briefly thought back to the kneecapping incident. Again. Then, his mind decided to take his own words and take them literally. Kneecapping Rocky. He shut it out of his mind with a bit of a wince.

"And as foolish as it might be in terms of logic," Mordecai began, "coming back to the Lackadaisy practically invalidates any reason for that whole incident in the first place. That's to say, it would have been in vain."

Rocky, nearly cringing at that sentiment, was about to open his mouth when Mordecai continued. "And yet, some of the assignments Asa has tasked me and the _Savoys,_" he spoke with contempt, "seem to be that of tying loose ties together on Atlas's death. Not tying them together, even— simply burning the loose ends off. And after the first lunch, I have reason to be suspicious of Asa in the incident. Staying with the Marigolds _could_ give me an opportunity to discover the truth, but it also forces me to erase the evidence as I do. And perhaps in that circumstance realigning with the Lackadaisy is better, as I won't be destroying evidence, and I would be working against who I suspect is responsible, but I would be complicit in what might be done with the evidence, and in such a—"

"Mordecai, slow down," Rocky gave a weak smile, wanting to stay friendly and understanding, but clearly worried, "you don't have to talk so fast. And just forget that situation right now; it's just making things more complicated for you."

Mordecai sighed. "Yes. It doesn't make it any easier. Or simpler, indeed, for that matter." He took a breath. "And perhaps most simply of all," time to understate everything, "I would be reluctant to return to the Marigolds and be at odds with you, and Viktor, and perhaps even the rest of you, if they were lucky." Rocky chuckled somewhat awkwardly. "Even though you people did _imprison_ me, and I'm not quite going to forget that, it would be… difficult to reconcile with the fact that I might be firing on you, or Freckle, or Viktor. And while I had dealt with such a possibility before being made a prisoner, coming back here after all of that time away has made the situation different. Coming to an understanding with Viktor, meeting you and your cousin— and even simply getting time away from the Marigolds to put into perspective how little I wish to return." Mordecai pushed his hair out of his face. It was getting longer here, in captivity. "With so many factors, it's more difficult to make a decision than I anticipated."

"Well… it sounds like you've been thinking about this a lot," Rocky stated. "I'm not really too sure that I can help you out. But, uh, if you can't stand Asa and the people you work with, and if you don't wanna be fighting against us, then don't go back to them. I'm sure that Mitzi would let you back in if you wanted to. And if for some reason she didn't, I would just have to convince her otherwise, okay?" Rocky leaned more onto the broom and, as it slipped, he nearly lost his balance. He played it off and stood up straight again. "As for, um, picking the side that'll do better, I can't help, I don't think. I mean, _I_ think that we're doing well. But, well, you might know more about who's doing better than I do."

Rocky carried on. "And, well, hell, I can't make you not feel bad about what happened with Viktor. It's not even my place to push, even. So, heh, I guess I'm not really helpful at all, am I?" He half-chuckled. "But, if you decided to try and stick with us, I'd do everything that I could to help make that happen." He had the same glowing, optimistic grin on his face that he often did. Mordecai looked away to try and hide a difficult to sequester, yet certainly much more subtle, smile of his own. Rocky was so good. Rocky's smile faltered, "Mordecai? You alright?"

Mordecai immediately turned back, clearing his throat, returning to the cold exterior he often had. "Of course. Sorry."

"Well, I hope that I might've helped, Mordecai."

Mordecai nodded slightly. "Thank you." He took one main thing away from that conversation— sticking with the Lackadaisy was much more feasible, and perhaps much better, than he had originally intended. His mind still wasn't made up, not set in stone. But Mordecai would be lying to himself if he said that Rocky hadn't heavily swayed his opinions. Mordecai would start trying to make a spot for himself in the establishment's ranks, in case he did indeed decide to go with that.

And again the day passed by without much of interest. The speakeasy was clean and ready for another busy night. The café served food without issue, and was made barren as the night approached. Freckle and Rocky and Mordecai and Ivy were ready for another night of drinking and whatnot. Not them drinking, of course. And no one was quite sure whether to expect an attack or not; last night had made things somewhat more confusing, given the peacefulness of it.

Rocky and Mordecai were out in the garage, away from the business and the noise and all that. Rocky didn't mind, and Mordecai was somewhat thankful. Rocky had also spoken with Mitzi. He'd convinced her, begrudgingly, to arm Mordecai as well. She told him to warn Mordecai, on her behalf, that if Mordecai tried anything at all, Mitzi would stop providing him with anything. She added on, even food. The warning was unnecessary to him, but it got the message across. Indeed, Mordecai was given some other handgun. Upon the two having guns, they switched— giving Mordecai his own gun back, with Rocky having a right-handed gun.

Freckle was serving up drinks at the bar— something he was getting better at. Mitzi let him know that he looked positively dashing behind the counter, serving drinks in his suit. He enjoyed it. And he wasn't bad at it. But, after a while that night, he wanted to take a break from drinks for a bit. He let Mitzi know and went back to the garage. He would take the two boys' position guarding the garage in exchange for Rocky doing drinks. Mordecai would come with him, as Mitzi was still expecting Rocky to watch over him.

As such, the two switched places. Rocky would serve drinks, with the occasional assistance of Mordecai, and Freckle would guard the garage. All three were armed in the event of a Marigold attack. Although, with more time passing, it seemed increasingly less likely. Freckle sat down on a crate against the wall, appreciating the quiet. And Rocky and Mordecai were busy with drinks. Another night was going well.


	38. Uphill

Mordecai retrieved an old fashioned glass from behind. As he turned, about to set it down, Rocky snatched it from him, and, with unnecessary flourish, filled it with bourbon. It was a neat spectacle, although the glass was certainly a bit too filled. The already drunk patron gladly accepted it though. Rocky seemed pleased, nevertheless. Mordecai folded his arms and stood back, waiting. As much as conversation would have been appreciated at that moment, it was impossible, whether because of the noise or constant interruptions, to hold one.

The door into the speakeasy opened quickly, revealing Horatio holding it open as Ivy rushed in, getting the attention of the boys, Mitzi, and probably a few patrons as well. Horatio watched on, holding the door open, confused, as Ivy and Mitzi met in the middle, although Ivy, in her speed, covered more distance. Rocky watched with extreme interest. Mordecai had such interest, too, but stayed stood where he was. And, Mitzi's eyes widened in the two's conversation, he saw, and they approached the bar. Well, it seemed they were involved with whatever was happening now. Mordecai uncrossed his arms and took a step closer to the counter.

"Ivy says some people burst into the café. Armed," Mitzi stated. Mordecai raised an eyebrow. Alright, they were up.

"How many?" Rocky asked, looking at Mitzi.

Mitzi looked to Ivy. Ivy spoke, "Maybe a dozen?" Then, with more urgency, "They're coming in _right now!_"

"Well, we can't have them come down here! A bloodbath here'll scare everybody away, and we'll be lucky to have a single customer tomorrow," Mitzi protested.

"Surely meeting them upstairs and having a shootout in plain view of the whole street isn't appreciated either?" Mordecai added.

"Damn. Uh," Mitzi hurried, with every passing second having the odds get worse, "how about on the stairs?"

"Fighting a quite literally uphill battle?" Mordecai countered.

"Mordecai, you're a sharpshooter, you'll manage. And, um, Rocky, you be sure to help him out." Mitzi began to spring into action. "Ivy, you stay here at the bar, and I'll get up with the band and we'll play somethin' loud so no one hears you boys, okay?" She didn't wait for anyone to respond. "Okay."

Rocky quickly got moving, and Mordecai, not quite persuaded by Mitzi, also gout out from behind the counter. Ivy got behind it, worried, and Mitzi walked along with the two boys and got to Horatio. She nearly pulled him in and began instructing him to do something. Mordecai didn't hear as they went past the doors and into the hardly lit staircase from the café down to the speakeasy.

Behind them, the door closed, with Horatio on the other side, standing in the way of the doors. Mitzi rushed, although not too fast so as to spark alarm, to the band and hoisted herself onto the sort of stage they were on. The band was in between songs and looked to Mitzi with confusion. She quickly explained herself, rummaging through things for either her ukelele or some substitute. Louder song, with some singing part, which someone else would fill. The band grumbled about it, and Mitzi firmly directed them to go on. Begrudgingly, they started to play, grasping the speakeasy's attention.

Dominic paced back and forth, his hands flailing about in various gestures as he spoke. It wasn't his office he was in. No, it was a larger one. An office for someone more important in the hierarchy Dom was, unfortunately, a part of— the police commissioner; a man by the name of Joseph.

"I've got confessions of two confirmed members, with photographic evidence to prove their connections, with descriptions, police records, and anecdotal evidence all lining up. Not to mention the multiple reports I've received from those nearby at the time of shootings and whatnot. And I've seen with my own eyes the blood and the guilty look on their faces. I've got everything I need to push for a warrant," Dom ranted.

Joseph was leaning back in his chair. And after a moment of silence from Drago leaned forward and began to speak, "I brought you in here to talk about the Maribel, Dom."

"But I need to get that warrant and that police backup, then I can get proof of the speakeasy and—"

"I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about the Maribel Hotel. Got it?"

"Yes, I get it. But I need you to let me—"

"You were brought in here to deal with the bootleggers in our city. As far as I'm concerned, that is a group exclusively found, in all practical purposes, within the Maribel, and nowhere else. And you certainly know that as well as I do, right?"

"Well, yes, they're certainly much larger in terms of people and resources."

"Exactly. And I need you to focus on them. I— I get the urge to go after the, uh…"

"Lackadaisy."

"I get the urge to go after the Lackadaisy, especially given the…" Joseph looked over his desk, covered in files and photos from Dominic, "body of evidence. And listen, Dom, I believe you. I do think that everything you've got here is proof, and I would be, I would be willing to have you go ahead with the search warrant. But unfortunately," he reached over and started grabbing files one at a time, "These records are old and prove nothing, these confessions were taken improperly and without written record, these photos prove damn all, and these reports weren't filed nor were they properly investigated." He set all of the papers he rifled through in a pile. "Now I believe you, Dom. I do. But if, against all odds, there _isn't_ anything— or even if there _is_— and someone finds out that you got a warrant with, with all _this?_ That's a lot of trouble. And who'll have to deal with it? Probably not you, Dom; probably me. Alright?"

Dom sighed. "Of course. I understand that. But I would be able to _get_ indisputable proof if I was given a little more _help._"

"You're not getting any help, because, as good as all of this is— and as much as it reminds why we have you around— it's not what we need. Because, as it stands, there are bigger fish to fry. Get me evidence and _legitimate_ confessions relating to the Maribel, and get us some arrests and a takedown of the Marigolds, and then we'll revisit the Lackadaisy, okay?" He took a moment to swallow. "Speaking of which, we've got some bodies, shot to pieces, found in the Mississippi this morning, which are most likely related to the Maribel."

This was news to Dom, who suddenly began ranting again. "No, those are probably connected to _Lackadaisy._ I told you, I saw one of them, Rocky, in the café's garage, trying to cover up the report I got of gunshots and the blood I saw. And that's without mentioning the hole I saw in the door, as well as the _blood spatter on his clothes._ Those bodies probably came from the Little Daisy's garage, and if I had a _warrant,_ I could—"

"Alright, I've had enough of this." Joseph stood up. "You were brought in to investigate the _Maribel._ I don't know why you're not; maybe you have some sort of grudge. I don't know. But you're going to forget about the Lackadaisy until you have some legitimate, infallible proof, or deal with the Maribel, alright?" He turned to grab all of Dom's files. He stopped and turned back. "Oh, and before I forget. The guy you've kept in the holding cell? A, uh," he looked over his desk, quickly spotting what he was looking for, "Zibowski? He's off tomorrow morning."

"Off? Off how?"

"He's outta here. He'll be heading off to the city jail that you've been keeping him from."

"Why?"

"Because he's been raising some clear concern about you improperly keeping him here. That cell isn't meant for someone to spend weeks in, and that guy clearly knows it. And seeing as you, with no authority over his sentence whatsoever, was the one keeping him there, he could easily pull something against us after he's out. Which, again, would be _my_ problem!"

Dom was about to raise objections, but kept quiet.

"I hope you got the message, Dom. Work on the Maribel, or we'll have to request someone else deal with St. Louis, okay?" Joseph handed off Dominic's files back to him. Dom took them in his arms and very quietly grumbled. "Okay?" Joseph asked louder, with a more booming voice.

"Okay," Dom acquiesced.

"Good. Now bury that crap at the bottom of a filing cabinet." Joseph slapped his hand onto Dom's shoulder. "And hopefully, next time you'll have some more dirt on the Maribel."

"I'll get on it."

"That's what I like to hear," Joseph smiled as Dom stepped out, and the door was shut behind him.

Dominic waddled back into his office, shutting the door forcefully behind him. He tossed his files onto his desk and collapsed into his chair. He took a deep breath and slowly sighed, leaning back, his head falling backward. With quiet rage, "Goddamnit." Bureaucracy made this all an uphill battle, even when he had the evidence.


	39. Safety

The stairs down to the speakeasy were cold and dark. It was the perfect introduction to the relatively seedy underbelly of the city. It was also, as Mordecai noted, the best place to get shot. He retrieved his handgun from within his suit and held it tightly. Rocky struggled to pull his gun from his pocket. And as he had it in his hand, the haphazardly closed door at the top of the stairs was opened, illuminating the staircase some more, officially graduating it from 'dark' to 'dim'. Still not great.

Mordecai took the first shot, aiming at the chest of the first one to enter into the darkness. Before the assailants had noticed the two at the bottom of the stairs, one of them had already been shot in the diaphragm. A second shot from Mordecai struck his inner thigh, right at the base of his torso, as the intruders began to shoot as well. The loud bangs echoed off of the limestone walls that surrounded them, and hopefully didn't ring out too loud in the café nor in the speakeasy. But, fortunately, the already twice shot grunt missed his step as he tried to back up, out of the situation— something that already would have proved fruitless, and he began to tumble down the stairs.

Horatio felt the door budge behind him, with a loud thud to boot. He had no idea how he'd already been roped into keeping the doors closed— as a shooting took place behind him. He hoped that the door was thick enough to stop a bullet or two. Ivy stared off into the distance in Horatio's general direction, nervous and wondering if she should go get Freckle. Or help him, in the case that they try the garage. And Mitzi was loudly playing the ukulele with the skeleton crew of a band she had at her side. Looking down at the crowd, it seemed she had them captivated. A rogue few seemed to have heard the faint noise of gunshots a mere twenty or thirty meters away, but they either didn't care or ignored the noise, as they turned back to either converse with fellow patrons or to listen to the music. Mitzi took a wayward glance at Ivy and Horatio, who were still holding everything together. But she wanted most of all to see how the two boys were handling things, seeing as they were the lynchpin this whole plan rested on.

A second body, shot from the hip by Rocky, clutched at their nicked neck, having struck dangerously close to a major artery. Mordecai took the opportunity to accidentally strike the Marigold's abdomen, striking directly into his stomach. That was enough to send him into some sort of a state, and, with closed eyes, he was pushed over by the hasty steps of the grunt behind him. He tumbled down, and Mordecai hopped over the body, shooting at the grunt that was now at the front as he did. Rocky was so amazed that he nearly forgot that a bullet had just struck the wall to his right; inches from his head. He was just glad that it didn't ricochet straight into his face. Rocky turned around and took another shot at the stomach guy; just in case.

Mordecai felt a bullet strike at the stair only a couple of feet in front of him, ricocheting off and burying itself in the limestone above. Another bullet, shot by one of the Marigolds, struck one of the bodies at the bottom. Upon the amicable introduction between Mordecai's next bullet and the chest of the grunt that had inadvertently pushed the stomach guy down, the Marigold at the back decided that he wasn't going to get himself killed, and began to retreat out of the staircase and out of the café.

Every time Horatio jumped with the deep thud of another body rolling into the door he had his back to, Ivy got more and more nervous. Indeed, another body, the one who had had his lung mutilated, had collapsed down the stairs before too long. Mitzi watched a couple more heads turn towards the door, confused. She played harder, hoping that would directly change how many people heard the gunshots and the sounds of corpses.

Mordecai nearly threw himself into the wall to his left as he tried to get a good angle. But he succeeded and struck _directly_ into the thigh of the guy that was now at the back. There was a scream, which surely must have been heard by at least some people in the speakeasy, and he simply threw his gun down, which bounced and tumbled down the stairs into the pile. Then, he tried to pull back out of the confrontation, grunting as he limped away, bleeding from his leg.

With the same angle, Mordecai shot again, striking the crotch of the unfortunate guy in the middle of the battalion. Strangely, this guy did not let out a scream, and instead just had his legs give in, which nearly knocked over the guys in front of him. Perfect opportunity for Rocky to shoot at the shoulder of the guy in the front as Mordecai hurriedly reloaded his gun with a magazine in his pocket. Rocky pulled the trigger again as the injured shoulder tried in vain to aim again, and the other shoulder was struck. Yet another grunt either decided to bravely get reinforcements, or decided not to get shot and die, and backed up out of the stairs and out of view from the doorway. Apparently having multiple teammates die one after the other was bad for morale.

The combined weight of the collapsing crotchless fellow and the shoulderless one was enough to overwhelm the guy to the side, who was knocked off his feet, slipping on the blood on the stairs, and tumbled down, along with the other two. Mordecai and Rocky leaped as best as they could. Mordecai just about nailed it, against all odds. Rocky had trouble, but balanced himself with one hand reaching out towards Mordecai, which was quickly grabbed, and Rocky was kept on his feet by his partner in crime. He used that opportunity to shoot at the uninjured, just unlucky, guy at the bottom of the stairs, in the meat pile. His head lifted up and his hand went up in front of his face. Through his palm and embedding itself in the surfaces of his skull was Rocky's bullet. And a second finished him off.

That left one last guy at the top of the stairs, currently unharmed. He threw his gun to the ground so hard it could have conceivably broken the stair. He held his hands up in surrender. "Stop! Stop! Don't shoot me!"

Mordecai, slowly inching up, stair by stair, still was aiming at this guy's chest. "Why?"

"I—I dropped my gun! I'm just gonna get out of here, you don't have to worry about me!"

"Are there more Marigolds up there?"

"No! None! We were the only ones sent!"

Mordecai started to lower his gun. "Leave."

"Th—thank you, Mordecai." He began to back up.

Mordecai raised his gun again. "How do you have my name?"

He put his hands up. "I was told it! I'm sorry!"

"Who?"

"Asa!"

"Why?" Mordecai was only a meter or two away from him now.

"He didn't want us to kill you! T—to bring you back! Said you, you were kidnapped!"

Mordecai subtly turned on the thumb safety on his gun. "And were you going to do that?"

The Marigold stumbled back and landed on his back on the stairs. He looked up at Mordecai, coming up the stairs and looming over him. "I— I don't know."

"Decide." Mordecai stood over the grunt, gun aimed at his head.

"Wh— I d—don't kn—"

"Too late." Mordecai, in full view of the grunt, pulled the trigger. The Marigold screamed loudly, in mortal terror. Then, when nothing at all happened, "Tell him you didn't see me." Mordecai lowered his gun and flipped off the safety.

"Y—yes! I will! Thank you!" The Marigold jumped up and bolted away as fast as he could, out of the café and out of sight.

Mordecai turned around and began to descend the steps. And to Rocky, "We're done."

Rocky exhaled loudly. "Good! Oh my god, I thought I was gonna get shot in the head. And, wow, how did you jump over those guys so well? And what was that about just now?" Rocky said in rapid succession, all in one large breath.

"Don't worry about it," Mordecai responded, answering both questions at once.

"Did you get shot at all? Grazed? Like me?"

"You got shot again?" Mordecai was concerned.

"No! No, no, I meant, grazed like I was _the other day._"

"Oh. No."

"Good. Somehow, neither did I."

Horatio tried to ignore the growing pool of blood that was starting to sneak under the door. Horatio stepped slightly to the side to keep from stepping in it. And as the stairway behind him remained quiet for two, then five, then ten seconds, he got increasingly nervous. The large amount of blood coating the floor, on the other side of a solid door, didn't alleviate his anxiety. And when there was a knock at the door, Horatio just about fainted just then. Fortunately, he didn't scream and get everyone's attention, as at least one would have probably noticed the blood. Rocky whispered through the door, "Horatio! It's Rocky. We're fine, and all of the Marigolds are dead or, uh, ran away. Can you get Miss M. to come and talk to us?"

"Oh. Rocky. Well, she's, erm," Horatio looked up at Mitzi playing the ukulele, "busy. Wait a minute and I'll get her."

"I'd prefer if you got her now. It's not exactly hospitable crawling over a pile of warm corpses to reach the door."

"I… I'll get her as soon as I can."

Rocky grunted as he carefully stepped backward, "Thanks."


	40. Deception

Eventually, Mitzi finished her song. And as she finished up, she saw Horatio gesturing for her to come over there. So, she had the band play some vague intermittent music as she nervously walked down and to the door. It had only taken a single song to deal with the Marigolds, apparently. Or for Rocky and Mordecai to get shot to death, alternatively. And when Mitzi, relatively quickly, spotted the blood, it only served to hasten her walking.

"What is it?" Mitzi forcefully whispered.

"Rocky," Horatio simply muttered, pointing at the door with his thumb before stepping aside.

Mitzi stepped closer to the door, trying to avoid the blood, and somehow succeeding, and asked, "Rocky?"

There was some shuffling. Rocky began, "Hey Miss M! Uh, so we got those guys who rushed into the café, and we, um, didn't get shot ourselves! But there's, something like five or six bodies down here now, against the door, an—"

"There are exactly six," Mordecai interrupted.

"Exactly six bodies against the door, and they're bleeding, uh, a lot," Rocky continued.

"I can see that," Mitzi unhappily mumbled.

"You can? How?"

"It's seeping under the door, Rocky."

"Oh. Oh… that's not good."

"Why did you want me to come over here?"

"Oh, well, I was wondering what we should do with these bodies. And with these stairs. Cause if everyone wants to leave the way they came, these stairs aren't in, well, in—"

"It smells of iron and gunpowder, and the stairs are slick with blood," Mordecai helped.

Mitzi sighed and looked over her shoulder at the crowd of people in the speakeasy, who would no doubt be unnerved by the sudden corpses and blood. "You said there were six?"

"Yes," Mordecai stated.

"Horatio. Ivy. Come here." Horatio looked over and Ivy went around the counter and came towards the door.

"That's a lot of blood," Ivy said.

"Yes. Now, do you two think you could help carry some bodies from here to the tunnel just over there?" She pointed to the tunnel just to the side of the bar.

"What? Me?" Horatio asked, bewildered.

"How many?" Ivy wondered, at the same time.

"Yes. And six in total." She turned back and talked through the door. "You think you both can carry two at a time?"

"Two bodies?" Rocky questioned.

"Yeah," she confirmed.

"I could just about manage," Mordecai answered.

"Uhh," Rocky thought about how he was gonna ruin his clothes, "not _two._" He wasn't strong enough to carry two bodies at the same time. He worried he wasn't able to carry even one.

"Horatio?" She turned.

"Two?" Horatio again asked. Mitzi nodded. "No. Sorry."

Mitzi sighed. And just to try it, "Ivy?"

Ivy shook her head, "No."

"Why don't you just get Freckle?" Rocky posited.

"He's all the way in the garage. There's no time to get him. Really, there's not even time for me to be having this conversation. Cause I'm just hoping that no one out of a crowd dozens strong looks over at us and sees the blood, or tries to leave." Mitzi cleared her throat. "Mordecai, you carry two bodies from here to just out of sight in the tunnel by the bar. Same for you, Rocky, and you two." She looked over at Horatio and Ivy. "Someone's gonna have to come back and make a second trip."

"And how is no one going to see us carrying or dragging bodies in the open?" Mordecai countered.

"I'll get everyone's attention. Don't worry about that part. And after you all get the bodies out, y'all need to clean up all the blood, _fast._ Get some towels, get some quicklime, get a mop— anything and everything to clean all of it away. And use some candles to get rid of the smell. Everything needs to be roughly in order before people start to leave. But after the bodies, the blood needs to be cleaned up first."

"How?" Horatio wondered.

"Alright then," Mordecai calmly agreed.

"...Really?" Everyone else stayed silent. "That's the only objection to this plan? I expected more."

"I guess we're just used to this stuff by now," said Ivy.

"Well, go ahead. Get started as soon as everyone's looking away," Mitzi instructed and quickly began to head back to the stage. She quickly explained to the band that she needed the whole speakeasy's attention, then went to the microphone in the front. The band sort of came to a stop, slowly and smoothly, as Mitzi began to speak to the crowd. She didn't have any specific message in mind, but she would come up with something on the fly to keep everyone paying attention without it being too obvious. She would try, at least.

"Hello, everybody," she smiled, using the softest southern drawl she could muster, "I hope you're all doing well tonight." Indeed, she had every head swiveled her way; even the mostly drunken ones. She glanced over at the door, which was starting to be creaked open slowly. "And I hope you're all getting enough to drink." Some of the crowd happily raised a glass. "Drink to your heart's content. We certainly appreciate all your money. Patronage, I mean." She joked, getting a few light chuckles.

"I'd just like to say," she continued, looking over and seeing bodies beginning to be carried, as well as dragged, out of the stairwell, "the period of dwindling crowds and poor quality alcohol is behind us. We're no longer the sad hole in the wall we were for a little while. And we'll continue to make sure we can all get drunk beyond belief." There were a couple of drunken cheers.

She paused for just a moment as she looked back at the door, where Horatio and Ivy were still struggling to move the bodies, and Rocky had run back to the door at the stairs. He was looking back at Mitzi, gesturing wildly. He played some sort of stringed instrument, then looked like he was an opera singer, then he was playing a brass instrument. Mitzi looked on confused, then Rocky furiously gestured to the microphone, and ran back into the dark stairwell. Mitzi cleared her throat and began to speak into the microphone again. "And without further ado… um," She thought quickly. "Some of These Days."

One of the band members put their hand on Mitzi's shoulder and quietly whispered. "How? We don't ha—"

Leaning away from the microphone, she quietly replied, "Just make it work. Half of 'em are drunk anyway." Getting begrudged shrugs from the rest of the band, she recalled the lyrics of that song in her mind, and waited for the band to start.

Music started to fill the speakeasy again, and Horatio and Ivy were almost done dragging each of their bodies across the floor, creating a very discernable blood trail, out of sight. Rocky was getting the last body. They didn't have long to try and clean up everything. They would have to be fast and organized if they were to get it all done.


	41. Some of These Days

**A/N: This chapter uses lyrics from and heavily relies on the song _Some of These Days._ I would provide a link to it, but I forget that FFN has a strange vendetta against links. Look for the version with both Sophie Tucker and Ted Lewis on Youtube.**

* * *

Mordecai tossed the two bodies he'd grabbed onto the ground, by the wall. They leaned against each other in a cruelly intimate way, their heads against each other as they sat side by side. There was still a bullet hole in the limestone above them from some previous encounter. Mordecai discounted all of that as clearly irrelevant and made a dash for cleaning supplies, which he was pretty sure he knew the location of.

Rocky carried the last body over both of his shoulders, dripping blood down his suit, completely dirtying it. It would be hard to explain all that blood when this got cleaned. Horatio and Ivy stood there, unsure of what to do. As Rocky approached he quietly instructed, "Go get towels for the blood!" And off those two were.

Rocky quickly, but discreetly, made his way to the stairs, then, as quickly as he could without slipping, ran up the stairs into the café, both to see how things were up there, and to see if he could find any towels or cleaning supplies. Luckily, he did find a couple of towels and some candles, for the smell in the stairs. He rushed back down, nearly falling once, but continuing with speed. As he reached the bottom and threw the towels into the pool of blood, Mitzi began to sing.

_Some of these days, _Horatio tossed a bundle of rags and fabric into Ivy's arms, who began to run back while Horatio looked for more. _You'll miss me, honey._ Mordecai was at the garage with Freckle.

"Mordecai?" Freckle asked.

"Where are the cleaning supplies from the other night?" Mordecai rushed.

"Over there," he pointed to the corner, "why?"

"There's a mess that needs to be cleaned up. You ought to help out." Mordecai grabbed the supplies and began down the stairs into the tunnels again.

_Some of these days,_ Rocky frantically, on hand and knees, tried to soak up the blood with one hand as he tried to strike a match with the other. The blood was being somewhat soaked up, but the towels were becoming sodden. Ivy nearly tripped on her own feet as she rushed back to the pool of blood with her arms full of towels and towel-like things.

_You're gonna be so lonely._ Horatio found quicklime and bleach, as well as a rag to use them with. He began to head back when Mordecai caught up with him.

"Any luck?" Horatio asked, glancing aside.

"Seemingly," Mordecai stated.

_You'll miss my huggin',_ Ivy slowed down as she came into the establishment itself. She tossed everything she had in Rocky's general direction. He looked up from the candle he was trying to light and saw Ivy get on her knees and help mop up the blood.

_You're gonna miss my kissin'._ Mordecai quickened his pace and started darting back to the mess at hand. Horatio watched as he struggled to keep holding everything he had. _You're gonna miss me, honey,_ Rocky scuttered into the stairway with the candles. He only had seven. He would have to make it work, and he started to place them on the steps and light the wicks. _When I'm far away._ Ivy picked up a few of the soaked towels, which dripped from the drooping corners. She hastily bundled them up into a ball and rushed back into the tunnels to get what few of the sodden towels away, and to grab more.

_I feel so lonely,_ Mordecai came up to Ivy in the tunnels.

"We're gonna need more towels," Ivy stated as she tossed the red wad of fabric into a corner.

Mordecai put the handful of supplies he had into Ivy's scarlet hands. "You take this back. I'll get more." He turned around and started walking in Horatio's direction.

_For you only._ Rocky, upset, muttered to himself as he started to find it impossible to light the candles with the matches he had. Not to mention, the blood soaking through his trousers and onto his knees was deeply unpleasant. He was slowly going up the stairs, with a candle placed every few steps.

_Cause you know, honey,_ Ivy set the cleaning supplies that had been thrust upon her onto the ground, beside the puddle and the droplets that had been formed by the dripping towels. She reached over and grabbed another few soaked towels. She made her way back into the tunnels again. Horatio started coming back into the establishment.

_You've always had your way._ "Where're there more towels?" Ivy asked Horatio.

"I don't have an idea. Check the garage," Horatio advised.

Ivy seemed to take his words and continued through the tunnels, tossing the ball of wet towels in the same pile she had previously as she kept her pace.

_And when you leave me,_ Mordecai peeked throughout the tunnels as quickly as he could. Eventually, he stumbled upon a disheveled pile of dirty, yet dusty, clothes. He knew nothing about its origins, but it would work, too. Mordecai heard the quickened steps of Freckle coming up upon him.

"Mordecai, what's happening?" Freckle wondered, concerned.

"We shot some Marigolds. We need to clean up the blood and the general mess. Get some towels if you wanna help." Mordecai had no more time for answering questions, and rushed back towards the establishment.

_You know it's gonna grieve me._ Damn, they were starting to run out of song time, fast. Rocky swore under his breath as he nearly slipped down the stairs on the blood. They hadn't even started dealing with this yet. Horatio grabbed some more towels and went into the tunnels to dispose of them, leaving a disparate trail of blood droplets behind him as he did. Ivy crossed Mordecai, again.

_Gonna miss your big fat mama,_ Ivy came face to face with Freckle. "Is everyone okay?" Freckle questioned.

"Yeah. Are there towels in the garage?" Ivy cut to the point.

"Maybe?"

"Come on," Ivy grabbed Freckle's arm and rushed towards the garage.

As Freckle went along, he said, "Your hands are bloody." He had it all over his arm now. _Your mama,_

"Oh yeah. Sorry."

Mordecai tossed the clothes into the puddle of blood. Indeed, there was a need for more towels, especially if they were to clean the stairs and what trail of blood there might be in the café as well. Mordecai rubbed the clothes around in the puddle with his foot. Then, seeing that they weren't gonna get anywhere looking for towels down here, he made his way towards the stairs, quickly and quietly slipping past the slightly ajar door.

_Some of these days._ Horatio returned to the establishment, the scene empty. Panicked and unsure of what to do, he grabbed more sodden towels and repeated the routine. Mordecai quickly rushed up the stairs, two steps at a time.

"Where are you going?" Rocky quickly interrogated.

"Getting towels from Mitzi's home," Mordecai replied.

"What? Did she say you could?"

"I think she'd rather we clean this up than I leave her towels clean." Mordecai reached the top of the stairs and looked back at Rocky for a moment before rushing out of sight.

_Some of these days,_ Ivy and Freckle burst back into the garage. It took only a few seconds to locate many rags and towels that were probably meant for mechanical work or for cleaning the café. Regardless, many were snatched up and they returned back into the garage, jogging back to the scene of the crime. Horatio dropped the wad of towels into another, separate corner in the tunnels. _You'll miss me, honey._ Mordecai was, well, expectantly disappointed to find that Mitzi's front door was locked. Luckily, there were other ways to enter the building.

Rocky set the second to last candle down, lit, and hurriedly rushed near the top to finish with the candles. Really, it was stupid of him to try doing candles before dealing with the more pressing issue of blood being everywhere.

_Some of these days,_ Horatio nearly slipped on the trail he and Ivy had created as he removed another few spent towels. Ivy and Freckle, side by side, bolted back to the speakeasy with what they'd found. _You're gonna be so lonely._ Rocky set the last down candle down rather ungently and his legs quickly carried him down the stairs to see what else had been done.

_You'll miss my huggin',_ Rocky saw that a majority of the blood had been cleaned. He spotted Horatio returning from the tunnels. _You're gonna miss my kissin', _Ivy and Freckle emerged from the tunnels, from behind Horatio. They dropped what they had into the pile. It would be enough to clean up the rest of the puddle here in the establishment itself, but more would be needed for all of the blood on the stairs.

Ivy, Freckle, and Horatio began mopping up all that remained of the blood puddle here. Rocky nodded and quietly added, "Mordecai was getting some more from upstairs. I'll be right back." And he turned and rushed back up the stairs.

_Oh, you're gonna miss me, honey, _Mordecai flipped on the lights and rummaged quickly around. It was easy to locate a small cache of towels in the bathroom. He grabbed them, which were thicker and larger than the ones that had been downstairs, used as rags and whatnot. He paused and shut off the light and began to make his exit.

_When I'm far away._ Mitzi looked over, nervous that the song would end and the group would end up not coming close to cleaning everything. Just the look on Freckle's face seemed to tell her that it was gonna be nerve-racking.

_I feel so lonely,_ Rocky nearly knocked over one of the candles as he neared the top, but continued and rushed through the still open hidden door and out of the café. _For you only._ Ivy swirled the only moderately wet towel around the trail of red droplets that stretched from the puddle to the tunnels. Freckle desperately tried to avoid getting his slacks bloodied.

_Cause you know, honey,_ Rocky saw Mordecai step into the street, although he hadn't seen from where. Rocky saw all of the towels that Mordecai had in his arms. "You're sure she's fine with all of those being covered in blood?" Rocky wondered.

"Sure," Mordecai answered.

"Alright." Rocky reached out and grabbed a couple, "Lemme help you out."

"Have you dealt with the stairs already?"

"Well, not really." Rocky slowed as they approached the first step downward. "These are for that." Rocky set the towels down at the top, took one, and started methodically cleaning the stairs.

_You've always had your way._ "I'll start from the bottom and go up," Mordecai suggested as he continued down.

Horatio left the rest of what needed to be mopped up to Ivy and Freckle as he went over and retrieved the cleaning supplies. After all, just wiping up the blood wouldn't be enough. Ivy tossed Horatio a clean and unused rag for him to use.

_And when you leave me,_ Rocky wiped away step after step. Up at the top, most of them were basically clean, since most of the real violence had happened in the middle and it drained to the bottom. He used every inch of his first towel before tossing it down and grabbing a second.

_You know it's gonna grieve me._ Mordecai began to wipe away the large amount of blood still present at the floor at the base of the stairs, while just on the other side of the door Ivy and Freckle neared the end of the puddle that had seeped under the door. Horatio cleaned the floor behind them.

_Gonna miss your big fat mama,_ Rocky hurried down, perhaps not cleaning everything up perfectly, although it certainly looked much nicer. Nice enough that he presumed no one would notice what had happened here just minutes ago. Horatio, using bleach, cleaned up everything, and after he'd wiped away the bleach, he'd use the quicklime to finish the floor off.

_Your mama,_ Mordecai noticed that they were quickly nearing the end of the song. They had a dozen or so seconds before the music would come to a close. He tossed towels over several stairs at a time and wiped the stairs with his feet as he traveled up the length of the stairwell. Ivy saw that the blood was gone and snatched the remaining, sed towels, and dashed into the tunnels, after telling Freckle to help Horatio. Freckle, indeed, took the bleach and started washing nearly the whole front of the establishment, as well as going under the door, into the stairwell, and up the stairs, although he didn't go that far yet.

_Some of these days._ Rocky knocked over a candle, but quickly caught it and placed it back where it had been. He sped up even further. Mordecai took the used, dirty towels and tossed them up to steps he would reach in just a moment as he continued. If he were to properly clean everything up, not only would he be taking much, much more time, but he'd also be more thorough and get all of each and every step, as well as the walls and the ceiling. But, that was a luxury not afforded to them anymore. So, he had to go with simply good enough.

The lyrics had come to a close and the band was coming to a close on its song. Freckle took that to mean that he needed to hurry up and clean the stairs with what cleaning supplies he had, going up the stairs behind Mordecai. Ivy returned, quickly, and wiped away the bleach with another clean rag.

Rocky and Mordecai met in the middle, with Mordecai having cleaned a bit more than Rocky had. Without thinking, Rocky grabbed all of the darkened towels from Mordecai, dirtying up his clothes further, and urged him to continue as he rushed past, grabbing the remaining of their towels as he went ahead. Mordecai joined in on the Freckle, Horatio, and Ivy group.

Mitzi motioned for the band to play for just a bit longer, and so they stretched the outro of the song a bit longer. Mordecai appreciated that, quietly, from the other side of the room. Just buying them ten or twenty extra seconds could result in this all being clean. Rocky tossed down the towels and looked at the vast amount of fabric that had been soaked full of blood.

Freckle and Mordecai went up the stairs, liberally applying bleach and wiping it away quickly afterward. Ivy and Horatio essentially tried to remove any remnants of a rogue smell.

And when the band felt itself no longer able to continue procrastinating the end of the song, they quickly brought themselves to the final note. Mitzi took a quick glance aside and saw an absence of anybody. Freckle, Horatio, Ivy, and Mordecai were finishing up with the stairwell. Rocky was still in the tunnels. He knew that the song was finished, and he was far too bloody himself to risk being seen.

As Mitzi and the band concluded, they got some quiet, polite applause, as well as some mild, drunken cheers from the patrons. They took in the appreciation, with the band more focused on that, tactfully accepting the applause, and with Mitzi more focused on the door out of the corner of her eye.

The final step upon the staircase was quickly splashed with bleach and wiped away, regardless of how beneficial that in and of itself might be. Those in the stairs hurriedly returned to the bottom. As they somewhat loudly scrambled down the stairs, Mordecai quietly asked, "Who has blood on their clothes?" From his perspective in the back, he simply saw Freckle and Ivy raise their hands. "Alright then, those with blood on them ought to stay out of sight for the time being."

"Agreed," Horatio added.

And indeed, all but Horatio got into the tunnels, out of sight, and Mitzi watched a few of the tipsy patrons get up, wordlessly, to take their leave. Mitzi turned to her side and said to one of the band members, "Go upstairs with that guy. Act like you're just checking up on the café or something."

"Wh—"

"Do it."

He got down from the stage and followed the group of four people up and out. Mitzi watched on, nervous, having gotten off of the stage herself. She stood at its side as the band took a break, both because it was needed and because one of their dwindling numbers had been directed to go take a walk. Mitzi watched the large door from afar. She waited for a scream, a slip, a bang— something.

But after a minute of silence, from both the tunnels and from the stairs, she, still uncertain, assumed everything was alright. She walked towards the titular tunnels, glancing towards Horatio, who stood at the door, as she did. Horatio gave a red thumbs up and nodded. Mitzi quickly gestured to his thumb, and Horatio's eyes widened before he wiped his thumb off on his side, rubbing the blood off on the hip of his black suit.

Mitzi still had her doubts, and was expecting a reckoning. But, from first impressions, everything had, somehow, gone alright.


	42. Closing Up

Eventually, the last of the patrons left the speakeasy, with none of them noticing that anything had happened. Mordecai, Rocky, Freckle, and Ivy spent the rest of that time out of view, in the garage or in the tunnels, conversing. But, after Horatio went ahead and took his leave, like the drunks before, Mitzi went through the tunnels and found them, walking by the pile of bodies and towels that the group had created earlier. Fortunately, handling those byproducts wouldn't be too hard. If the method she'd used to dispose of bodies the other day still worked, then it'd be easy.

Mitzi entered the garage to see the four sitting around. Mordecai was sat on a crate against the wall, and Rocky was right beside him, tiredly leaning back, his head pressed slightly against Mordecai's arm. Ivy was leaning against Freckle, her head resting on his shoulder. Freckle looked awkward and uncomfortable but took no action to move or change things.

Mitzi quickly let everyone know that everyone had left once she entered. That, of course, meant Ivy could leave. Freckle couldn't leave until his cousin could, and Rocky and Mordecai were gonna have a talk with Mitzi as well as take care of a few quick responsibilities before Rocky would leave. Ivy sat up but stayed beside Freckle while Mitzi and the two boys walked out into the tunnels.

They stood by the stairs to the garage, in the rather dark and humid hall. Mitzi began by asking, "Is everyone alright then?"

Rocky looked to Mordecai, "I think so."

At the same time, Mordecai said, "Surprisingly, yes."

"Good." Mitzi sighed and relaxed a bit. "Well, first, I'd like your gun back, Mordecai." She held her hand out.

Mordecai reached into his pocket and retrieved his gun. "Of course." He set it in Mitzi's hand.

"This isn't the gun I gave you."

"Oh! Well, you gave me the gun Mordecai brought with him a month ago, and it's apparently left-handed, so we switched. That's the gun you gave _me,_" Rocky explained.

"Oh. Well, I'll give you _this_ one in the future, then," Mitzi responded.

"Thanks," Mordecai blankly replied.

"But give the ammo, also."

Mordecai reached into another pocket and pulled out one remaining magazine and gave it to Mitzi. "That's the only other one left."

She held the weaponry at her side. "I guess I'll trust you on that. Unless you think you should pat him down, Rocky."

Rocky looked back into Mitzi's eyes hastily. "What? No, he's good."

"Alright then." She shifted weight from one leg to the other. "Well, suffice to say, Mordecai, I'm pleasantly surprised with you. So far, at least."

"And why is that?" Mordecai asked.

"You're workin' for the other team. You'd think that such friendly fire would be a problem." She cleared her throat. "Not to discourage that, though; keep it up. You're certainly helpin' out. And if it's a ploy to make me let my guard down, unfortunately, it's workin'."

"I'm not going to commit myself about either," Mordecai joked extremely dryly, his countenance unchanging.

Mitzi didn't respond for a moment. "Well, unless either of y'all have any questions or anything else to say, I think that's it for the night."

Rocky looked at Mordecai, in case he had anything. When he didn't, Rocky turned back and said, "No, we're fine."

"Well then, put Mordecai back in the storeroom for the night."

Indeed, as they had done for many nights now, the two boys walked down the tunnel to the storeroom, with Mitzi hanging around as a manager waiting to close for the night.

Rocky opened the door for Mordecai. As he walked in, he quietly commented, "Starting to feel like this is my new home."

"Oh. Well…" Rocky thought for a second, "if all of this isn't resolved soon, maybe I can help you try to get stuff to make it more comfortable in here."

Mordecai adjusted his glasses. "I would appreciate that."

The two silently looked at each other for a bit. Despite the quietness and the staring, it wasn't awkward in the slightest. But then, glancing over his shoulder at Mitzi tapping her foot slowly, "Well, I don't wanna keep Miss M. and Freckle waiting, so…" Rocky smiled slightly, "goodnight."

"Night."

And with that, he closed the door as Mordecai turned around and stepped farther into the room. Rocky wrapped the chains back onto the door and snapped closed the locks.

As Rocky and Mitzi took the short walk back into the garage, Mitzi slightly turned to Rocky and said, "You know, I might have been wrong about distrustin' Mordecai so much."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He's helpin' us out in a major way, and he's not so much as attempted to escape. Maybe you were right to trust him. Maybe _I_ should trust him more."

"Oh, yeah. Mordecai's been good to work with. He clearly has some sort of empathy for us or something."

"Really? You think so?"

"I do."

"Huh. Maybe he's gotten softer."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the only other person Mordecai even had a _shred_ of empathy for was Viktor, back in the day. Wonder if it's me or Asa that's broken him."

"I don't think he's _broken._"

"You get what I'm sayin'."

The two returned to the garage, and collectively the group left through the garage. The cousins got into Rocky's car, and Mitzi swung around the front to make sure the café was in order. She was locking up the front door as she watched Rocky drive off. Then, she tiredly entered her tenement and climbed up the steps.

She walked towards her bedroom to hear the phone ring in her office. She stopped in her tracks and turned back and entered the office. She stood by the phone for a moment before setting the gun and ammo she had in her hand aside on the desk and reaching out and picking up the phone as it neared its final ring. "Hello?" Mitzi asked.

"Mitzi," a familiar voice said. Asa.

"Asa? What're you calling for at this time of night?"

"What are you doing _awake_ at this time of night?"

"_You_ called _me,_ sweetheart."

"Well, I know for a fact that you were already awake. And I wanted to let you know that your _stunt's_ not gonna go unnoticed by the powers that be."

"What 'stunt?' Are you referrin' to us _defending _ourselves from your grunts? Cause, honey, that's on you."

"The blood's on your hands. And I think you're the ones who might be investigated after such deaths."

"I think the Maribel's got a much bigger target on its back."

"Well, I think we've got some leverage."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"Who do you think's been tipping off the Feds on what you've been doing?"

"...Asa, what've you been doing with that Dominic guy?"

"My two most trusted associates have been conveniently leaving off tips with that 'Dominic guy'. I think you'll find that all eyes are on you, not us." Mitzi could hear him smoking his cigar.

"And somehow, despite that, we've won _twice_ now, against some bad odds."

"You know what they call that? Luck. And yours is gonna run out in time, doll. Another couple of raids, and one of your valued employees, or maybe one of your bandmates, is gonna slip up."

"And how are you gonna do that? Sending your associates to our meat grinder must be resulting in dwindling gunmen, surely?"

"Listen here, Mitzi—" Mitzi could hear him lean forward in his chair, "I'm gonna use the Maribel's manpower and our relationship with the Feds, as well as my highly qualified specialists, to make sure that your luck _does_ run out. Have you got that clear?" He took another puff of his cigar. "That is, unless you're willing to quit all this and get out unscathed?"

Mitzi half-guffawed. "Yeah, not gonna happen, Sweet. You'll find that we're doing well. I think I've even seen some of your regulars hangin' about here."

"Well, May, if that's what you wanna believe; go ahead. But just know that I had your interests in mind." With that, he hung up.

Mitzi thought for a short moment about Asa's parting remarks. But, she quickly found herself being far too tired to really get any sort of headway on a realization or some strategic planning. She shambled to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She leaned forward and collapsed headfirst into her bed and nearly immediately passed out.

Hopefully, tomorrow wouldn't just be more raiding.


	43. Adventurous

The next day started off pretty normally. The café was opened as usual, by a somewhat tired Mitzi. Ivy arrived to help out. Freckle came by with Rocky to converse with Ivy and whatnot. Rocky retrieved Mordecai and the collective group stayed aboveground, in the café, all talking and such as customers casually ate at their tables.

Mordecai was sitting at the counter, planning to ask from Ivy, or Mitzi, for his typical breakfast meal, rye toast with eggs. Mitzi was helping Ivy out for a little bit, before she would return up to her tenement to a little bit of administrative work.

Rocky quickly swallowed his mouthful of coffee, turned to his right, and seemingly playfully interjected, "You should get something different than what you usually do!"

Mordecai eyed Rocky. "That's interesting coming from you; I don't believe I've seen you eat anything other than _pancakes _since I arrived."

"I've eaten other things!"

"Name one."

"...Syrup?" Mordecai turned back and leaned forward to signal for Mitzi to come over from absentmindedly adjusting some salt and pepper shakers farther down the counter. "Oh, come on. Just get something different. Be adventurous."

"I'm not adventurous. I know what I like."

"So am I! But you gotta try other things sometimes."

"I'll get _fried _eggs instead, then."

"That's not different! That's the same thing."

"They are different. You ought to know that," Mordecai stopped himself from explaining in-depth, before taking a sip of his tea. "Besides, you don't seem to try anything different."

"Okay, what if I do? Will you do it, too?"

"I suppose."

Rocky grinned, "Okay!"

Mordecai sighed slightly and signaled Mitzi over as she finished handing a customer a napkin. She came over, and Mordecai asked for the same thing he'd gotten from the café quite a long time ago: French toast. He asked for it with powdered sugar and fruit. Glancing over at Rocky, he added 'no syrup'. Rocky simply asked for scrambled eggs. Mitzi indeed looked a tad bit surprised at the somewhat mundane departure from normal, but nonetheless went on to go, with Ivy, make the ordered food.

After a few minutes, the two were served their food, and they thanked Mitzi. Mordecai cut into one of the slices of bread and ate a bite.

Rocky took a sip of his coffee. "You should try it with syrup."

Mordecai swallowed. "I don't much want to."

"Why not?"

"Syrup's too sugary for this."

"Your French toast is already covered in powdered sugar!"

"I don't think I'd like it."

"What? Syrup?"

"Yes."

"Have you never had syrup before?"

"I have not." Mordecai took another bite of his breakfast.

Rocky quickly lifted up his mug and grabbed the saucer underneath it. He set his mug down and grabbed the syrup. He poured some into the saucer and slid it over beside Mordecai's plate. "Dip some in this."

"Why?"

"You've gotta try it."

Mordecai exhaled and cut a bite of his French toast and, with his fork, dipped it in the shallow pool of syrup. He brought the fork back to his mouth and started chewing it.

After a moment, Rocky asked, "Well?"

Mordecai swallowed and took a sip of his tea. "Well, I don't think I would ask for French toast drenched in it, as you do with pancakes, but I can at least say I see the appeal. Still a bit too sweet for me."

Rocky smiled and laughed softly, "I knew it!"

"What, that my opinion would practically be neutral?" Mordecai placed one of the strawberry halves from his plate into his mouth.

"You said you saw the appeal. That's positive." As he spoke, he reached over and grabbed one of the half-slices of bread and stole it.

"Excuse me? I believe that's mine," Mordecai glared, without taking any action to stop Rocky.

Rocky, holding it in his right hand, took a bite. "Not anymore."

"Very inconsiderate." Mordecai reached over and cut off a chunk of Rocky's scrambled eggs with his fork, and flopped it onto his own plate.

"Alright. Eye for an eye. That's fair." Rocky swiped his hair out of his face, smirking slightly.

The rest of the day went along smoothly. And eventually, night came, and the speakeasy started filling with patrons. Mitzi returned up to her tenement before making her final plunge down into the establishment. And after she had done what she had wanted to, and was just about to return downstairs, her phone rang, and she went back to answer it. It was Viktor. And, in a pleasant bit of news, he called to let Mitzi know that he seemed to have made a recovery; at least, enough of a recovery that he felt up to snuff enough to return to the speakeasy the next night. Mitzi interrogated him for a moment, just to make sure he wasn't lying and was going to get himself injured again, but indeed he seemed fine. She thanked him, and made a mental note to have Ivy at least report back on him tomorrow. And she returned downstairs.

Freckle, Mordecai, and Rocky, as had become the usual, stood guard at the two main entry points. And as the night continued on, it seemed more and more evident that Asa wasn't planning, or perhaps failed, to do any sort of raid. As such, the mood became much less tense as time went on, and everything was fine, it seemed.

It was then the morning of the next day. The café was opened, a couple of the employees had breakfast, alongside many customers, same as yesterday, and Ivy went to go check on Viktor, just to be certain, while Mitzi handled the café. Mitzi also made another mental note, such that she should start looking to hire someone to solely work the café— especially if Ivy was to be so involved in these matters.

Ivy checked up on Viktor dutifully, and indeed, he seemed to be in relatively good health. He still had some problems connected to his past injuries, but Ivy deemed him fine. Yet still, she stayed with Viktor for a short while, simply talking and keeping him company for a short bit, before returning back and corroborating Viktor's previous statement.

And that night, the speakeasy opened yet again— this time with four gunmen, of varying skill and trustworthiness, protecting it. With Viktor back, practically everyone was back again. The exception being Zib, of course. Perhaps it would behoove Mitzi to investigate what was going on with Zib some more; Freckle's meeting with Dom was the last time anyone had learned about what he was doing. Regardless, yet again, nothing happened that night, with regards to raiding. And as such, everyone returned to the establishment proper to mingle and whatnot.

"It's strange that the Marigolds haven't attacked us recently," Mitzi commented, to no one in particular, into a small group consisting of Rocky, Mordecai, and Viktor.

"Are you complaining?" Mordecai blankly stated, not looking up from the precarious stack of drinking glasses Rocky was assembling.

"Of course not. I just think that either they must be letting up, or, more likely, they're planning somethin' _big._"

"Are you worried about it?" Rocky asked with his hands up around his tower, ready to grab things if it started to collapse.

"Not at all. Despite them having more gunmen, I think we're more prepared for this 'war,'" Mitzi commented.

"You are sure about that?" Viktor questioned, in a somewhat cautious way, but mostly a double-checking way.

"Yeah," Mitzi postured, "I even think we could try some sort of attack on them."

"What?" Mordecai, mildly taken aback, asked.

"Yeah, I, uh, don't—" Rocky grabbed the glass at the top of his tower right before it fell, exhaling a sigh of relief, "I don't know if I'm, um, ready to do something like that. I mean, I've only been using a gun for a couple days. And before, I did this." He pointed to his left ear. "And someone _else_ did this." He pointed to his right ear. "And _someone else_ did this!" He gestured to his side, which, despite looking completely normal with his clothes on, had, of course, had been an injury of note just days prior.

"Well, I was more thinkin' we go after their supplies?" Mitzi suggested.

"That's certainly _easier,_" Mordecai said.

"Do you know anythin' about it?" Mitzi questioned, "You work there, after all."

"Anything about what?"

"How they get their drinks," Mitzi continued. Viktor looked down at Mordecai.

"It's delivered by trucks."

"Come on, Mordecai. Give us a bit more," Mitzi bargained. Rocky stopped trying to stack another glass onto his tower and looked up at Mordecai, who was now feeling the gazes of everyone around on him.

"Well," Mordecai thought. His mind returned to the internal debate he'd been having about where his allegiances lied; divulging information such as this could have profound impacts on the balance of power between the Maribel and Lackadaisy, and in agreeing or refusing, he could decide perhaps quite a lot on who might emerge victorious. Then, he thought about when he'd brought this up to Rocky, and what had come out of that. There would be issues with abandoning his efforts at the Maribel, some of which were rational, and some of which were, regrettably, rather irrational. And then, he simply thought about Rocky. Rocky was the culmination of irrational reasoning affecting his decision-making. And in the end, the combination of everything persuaded him, after a noticeable moment of silence, to divulge what he knew.

As he explained, the delivery of alcohol to the Maribel used to be more erratic. Until they gained more power and influence in the power vacuum that the Lackadaisy's near-collapse left. As such, Asa oversaw the process now, in a rather efficient way. Then, the Feds got more involved, and Asa had things changed. And in fact, Mordecai had only heard of these new changes on the day before he was captured in the Lackadaisy.

The supply lines were maintained as such: a truck, in a relatively conspicuous manner, with a somewhat suspicious look about it, would go ahead and begin to travel to the Maribel. This truck might be stopped by the Feds, but inside would be nothing other than supplies for the hotel that the Marigolds inhabited, in their symbiotic sort of way. But then, roughly twenty minutes later, the second truck would depart. This one would contain the actual alcohol for the speakeasy, having been purchased from cross country smugglers and nearby bootleggers. Both of these trucks would cross over the Eads Bridge in their delivery, and would be purposefully stopped just before driving over. Marigolds would be on the side of the road, in a flat greenery area just before the bridge. They'd be laying low and in-disguise, and would be out on the side of the road with some sort of issue— needing directions, car troubles, hitchhiking, et cetera. The trucks would pull over, then, and drive a bit farther off of the road, becoming nearly hidden by the aforementioned greenery. There, the in-disguise Marigolds and the drivers would exchange any necessary information and tweak the path the trucks would take if needed. And if everything was alright, and everyone was up to date, then the trucks would return onto the road and off they would go, to the Maribel. And this convoy departed every Sunday, in the late afternoon, guaranteed.

Therefore, as Mordecai explained, if a couple of Lackadaisy agents could take out the in-disguise Marigolds and take their place, then they would be in a perfect position to hijack the delivery truck and deliver it back to the Little Daisy's garage. It would be of minimal mess and of minimal disruption.

Mitzi really liked the idea. It was a fantastic way to attack and weaken the Marigolds without much danger. Not to mention, every bottle of alcohol that they recovered was another that she didn't need to purchase. She warned Mordecai not to lie about anything, with unspecified threats attached. Although, with how Mordecai spoke, it seemed unlikely to her that Mordecai had come up with all of it on the spot, although she wasn't sure. Regardless, she assigned Rocky and Mordecai to handle the convoy raid, with Viktor to drop them off at the spot before the Eads Bridge; indeed, tomorrow was Sunday, which was just excellent luck. Mitzi seemed visibly uplifted, and was, by all accounts, confident in the plan.

The night concluded without much more. Everyone filed out, including, eventually, the employees— minus Mordecai, who was, of course, left in the storeroom for the night. And as they returned to the outside world, Rocky took note of the sky. The moon was illuminating the sky with a hazy ring of light, behind a dark and overcast sky. In the distance, coming closer by means of a rapturous wind, were turbulent and blackened clouds. As Rocky slammed his car door shut, about to depart, he couldn't tell if there was thunder, or if it was just the sound of the door.

It looked like it was due to storm— any time now.


	44. Rain

Rocky arrived at the Little Daisy in the late morning, with the café not having many patrons. The previous night had been populated by thundering rain, and the morning was yet still paired with grey storm clouds and a consistent dreary drizzle, which had started to pick up in the past few minutes. Fewer people were driven to visit the café, then. Not that it particularly mattered. Rocky hurried through the rain, down the alley, into the garage, and down the stairs into the tunnels.

After the storeroom door had been opened and greetings had been exchanged, Mordecai asked Rocky why he was wet, and he informed Mordecai that it was raining. Mordecai groaned, and the two began walking back towards the garage. In the garage, the still annoyed Mordecai spotted an umbrella sitting against the wall in the corner. Rocky grabbed it, opened the door to open it outside, then held it above him, ushering Mordecai underneath it with him. Preferring it to getting completely wet, Mordecai leaned in close to Rocky as they walked back to the front of the café. He tried to keep from getting his shoulder wet by leaning into Rocky's wet clothes. And he simply detested the warm and humid air outside.

Mordecai entered through the front door as Rocky stayed back for a second and closed the umbrella, and shook it off. The two sat side by side at the counter, with Mitzi and Ivy looking mildly bored and apparently unoccupied.

"Hello, Ivy, Miss M." Rocky nodded, leaning the umbrella against the counter, by his feet, "Where's Viktor?"

"He'll be here in an hour or so," Mitzi stated, checking the clock.

"Well, in that case, how about some lunch?"

"It's a bit early for lunch," Mordecai stated, dusting off his suit.

"Did you have breakfast?" Rocky asked to his side.

"No."

"Then let's have lunch!"

"That might better be described as 'brunch.'"

"Oh, whatever."

The two then conversed and ate with the group that had coalesced by the counter as the rain gently pelted the windows. It picked up speed and slowed down slightly, but stayed consistently above a drizzle. Rocky asked Mordecai to describe the supply convoy again. Mitzi jokingly commented about how unhappy Mordecai must be when he has to stand out in the rain for twenty minutes. And as Rocky began to stuff a whole pancake into his mouth, the door opened to a dripping wet, mildly disheveled Viktor.

"Hey there, Viktor," Mitzi half-waved.

Viktor nodded. "How are things?" He walked over to the counter, to the side.

"Alright. Business is slow today."

"And vhen is drop-off?"

"Perhaps in just a bit." Mordecai looked over and checked the clock, "You arrived at just the right time, it would seem." He set his fork down on his plate of mostly eaten eggs.

Rocky swallowed his food with an audible gulp. "Oh, already?" he wondered.

"Then go," Viktor demanded.

"Alright then." Mordecai stood up. "Thank you once again for the meal," he said to Mitzi and Ivy.

"Hold on one second," Rocky pleaded before he stuffed his last pancake into his mouth with a sort of half-gagging sound. He stood up and muttered some sort of agreement, which was uninterpretable, which Mordecai cringed at. And then, with Viktor unemotionally leading the group, they began for the door. Rocky stood at the door for a moment, his mouth still full of pancake, as he opened the umbrella, holding it up above him.

He gestured to Viktor with the umbrella, who was looking back at him. Viktor turned back to the front and kept walking. Although Mordecai took refuge under the umbrella again as they walked back to the garage, and Rocky gladly held it between them.

Viktor got into the truck's driver's seat, and Mordecai and Rocky sat in the back, since they were to be dropped off, eventually. They pulled out onto the main road, and Mordecai gave a quick bit of directions as to where exactly they needed to go, and Viktor understood where he was to drive as they embarked off towards the drop-off spot by the bridge.

They drove over the Eads Bridge, then eventually turned around and pulled to the right, off on some grass, as cars continued to travel on the rather busy road. They were parked on a flat, barren bit of greenery, before the ramp onto the bridge. The car was rather far away from where Mordecai said the Marigolds would be, and indeed, there was a car parked nearly out of sight up ahead, closer to the river, although still a bit of a distance from it. It was rather far off from the road.

Viktor stayed with the other two for the time being, and would leave them a bit after the decoy truck had been spotted. There was always at least one eye on the road as they talked between themselves. Given the issues still existent between Mordecai and Viktor, it was good to see the rather pleasant small talk the lot engaged in, with Rocky as well. The rain even seemed to be slowing, which would be good news for the two boys when they had to stay out there.

And then, Mordecai identified the decoy truck coming down the road. As soon as he stated that he saw it, Rocky clambered over towards the window, its outside covered in raindrops, to see it, and Viktor turned to eye it as it continued along. One of the Marigolds up ahead was right by the side of the road, waving a handkerchief. He'd only been by the road for maybe thirty seconds before the truck appeared, and as such, only ended up so wet in the drizzling rain. And dutifully, the truck came to a stop along the road, and the driver of the truck and the Marigold indistinctly talked for a moment before they stepped out and followed the Marigold farther from the road, nearly into the trees, with the truck driver pulling out an umbrella for the two of them as the walked away.

Mordecai and Rocky waited very quietly as they watched the exchange take place for roughly a minute and a half. And then, pretending to have not been able to help, the truck driver returned to their automobile and pulled back onto the road and onto the bridge. When the Marigolds returned to their car, far from the road, it was about time for the driver to go.

"Thank you, Viktor," Mordecai said as he opened the door.

"Yeah, thanks," Rocky added.

"Don't get shot," Viktor warned.

"We shall try," Mordecai remarked as the two boys stepped out. Mordecai shoved shut the door, and after a nod from Viktor, with a wave from Rocky as he turned the umbrella skyward above him, the car pulled onto the road and drove over the bridge in much the same way as the decoy truck had just moments prior.

The two started walking the roughly one hundred, one hundred fifty meter distance between where they had been waiting and the Marigolds' outpost. Mordecai patted his suit just to double-check; indeed, he still had his gun in his pocket. Rocky had his as well. Mordecai looked back to the busy main road. Among the trees and shrubbery, it was near impossible for someone to get a wayward glance of them on accident.

As they approached, quietly, they noticed that both Marigolds had their back to the road— at least, temporarily. Mordecai pulled out his gun, and gestured with his head to Rocky, who then did the same; he'd already put away the umbrella, at least for now They got closer. Mordecai seemed to have no qualms, although Rocky was a bit apprehensive. Mordecai brought the muzzle of the gun up towards the back of one of the two's heads. Rocky did the same. Mordecai pulled the trigger, and near-instantly, the guy he was aiming at was dead and collapsing. The guy to his side began to turn and seemed to start screaming in the split second of apprehension before Rocky pulled the trigger, too.

Mordecai put his gun back into his pocket as he glanced over his shoulder at the road. Still good. Mordecai then turned back, and the two dead Marigolds were lying on the ground, bleeding all over the grass. Mordecai turned to Rocky, who seemed to be morbidly studying the injury of the Marigold he'd killed.

"Are—" Mordecai began.

Rocky jumped and his hand gripped onto his gun like his life depended on it. Then he turned and looked at Mordecai and relaxed. With an exhale, he responded, "Oh. Yeah?"

"I was going to ask if you were alright."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just that… the stuff in the Lackadaisy— that was more, uh, self-defense, right?"

"Broadly speaking, yes."

"This… isn't."

"Well," Mordecai understood Rocky's issues with this sort of thing. It's not like it was pleasant, either aesthetically or morally, "hopefully you won't have to do it again. After today."

Rocky sighed as he put his gun away. "Hopefully." He adjusted his hat. "I guess it _is_ my job, though."

"Indeed it is." Mordecai pulled his sleeves out, before noticing a large blood splatter on his chest. He pulled on the bottom of his suit jacket to look at it a bit better. "Well, that'll certainly look suspicious."

"What, the blood?" Rocky poked at the guy's body in front of him with his shoe. "I would think the bodies would be a bigger red flag."

"We'll deal with those in a moment." Mordecai reached for the buttons on his jacket and started to undo them. He pulled off the jacket and draped it over the shoulder of the white button-up he was wearing underneath said jacket as he walked around to the driver side door of the Marigolds' car. He pulled open the door, took a look inside, then folded and set his suit jacket inside on one of the seats. He turned back. "Do you think that you can help get those bodies in here without getting their blood on you?"

"Uh… maybe?" He grabbed his umbrella.

"Great. You try to pull this through, into the backseats." Mordecai bent over and pulled up the first of the two corpses by their arms. Rocky quickly dropped the umbrella and ran over and grabbed their legs, and together the body was pulled up and methodically dragged into the back of the car. And they did the same for the second body, stacking it on top of the first.

The two looked at themselves and each other, and, miraculously, they seemed to avoid dirtying up their clothes. Mordecai looked down at the somewhat perceivable crime scene, with the blades of grass dripping red droplets as well as clear ones, and the dirt yet muddier. He quickly got into the car and repositioned so as to park on top of or in front of any evidence for when the second truck driver arrived.

"It's only been perhaps eight minutes, at most. We ought to wait a few minutes more before one of us goes to the side of the road," Mordecai stated.

"Do you think it's gonna be a shootout?" Rocky asked, holding the umbrella up between the two of them.

"Not if we have the initiative." Mordecai fixed his glasses, shifting closer to Rocky so as to be underneath the umbra. "We'll lead them back here, pretending to be the Marigolds we just killed. Then, after we've lowered their guard and have drawn them from their own truck, we'll kill them. With that done, we can deal with those new bodies, then we can return to the Lackadaisy with the supplies."

"Do you think this is gonna work?" Rocky half-nervously wondered, turning to Mordecai for some sort of assurance on the plan as he slicked his wettened hair back.

"I do." Rocky subtly nodded to that. "Not to mention, this is certainly much easier than either of the last two raids we've had to endure. All you need to worry about is aiming and pulling the trigger at the right time, just the one time."

"Yeah, alright," he weakly smiled, "easy enough."

It was just a brief few minutes of relaxation and a break from action before it neared the time of the supply truck arriving. Then, one final killing, or two, really, would end their pre-emptive strike, successfully.


	45. Funny Business

Mordecai sat in the driver's seat of the Marigolds' car with the door open, talking to Rocky, who leaned against the side of the car, with both watching the road. Mordecai spotted a truck that he assumed was their target, based on the timing and its purposefully blank exterior. Mordecai stood up and shut the car door behind him, leaving a white handkerchief in the door, as had been there before they arrived. Mordecai pointed to the truck, and Rocky paced over towards the road, waving his hand around.

As Mordecai had expected, the truck slowed down and then pulled to a stop on the grass beside the road. Mordecai started walking over as the truck parked. His socks were getting wet walking through all of the wet grass, but he tried to keep from grimacing.

The passenger side window was rolled down on the truck. Behind it was a smirking Marigold. He leaned out a bit and asked, "Is everythin' alright?"

Rocky was about to open his mouth when Mordecai took a step ahead and responded, "Yes, we've got some terrible car troubles, in fact. Would you two be able to take a look for us?"

"Well, we're not experts in mechanics," the Marigold said without taking his gaze off of Rocky and Mordecai, "but let's see what we can do." The Marigold opened the door and stepped out, and on the opposite side of the truck, the driver did the same. Mordecai adjusted his glasses as the two regrouped beside him.

He started leading the group back toward the car, with Rocky somewhat nervously at his side, and the two Marigolds closely trailing him. They were silent for a bit as they walked. Then, as they got a sufficient distance from the road, and rather close to the car, the driver spoke up and questioned, "So where's Quincy? I thought he was supposed to be doing this today?"

"Yes, well, Asa had him reassigned to something or another last-minute," Mordecai quickly thought.

"Sounds like him," the driver mumbled.

"Hey," the passenger tapped Rocky's shoulder, "who're—" Rocky jumped and turned around suddenly. "Whoa, didn't mean to startle ya. Who're you?"

"Yeah, I haven't seen this guy before. Are you new?" the driver continued.

Mordecai spoke for Rocky. "Indeed. A new hire. Asa thought to give him an easy first job before he starts raiding."

"Fair enough," the driver half-shrugged.

"Call me Douglas," Rocky instructed as he stopped by the car, coming up with a burner name on the fly.

"Sure, Douglas. Anyway, Mordecai, it's been a while since I've seen you; where've you been?" the driver asked, no hint of malicious intentions or subterfuge on his face.

"Uh," Mordecai tried to rebound from being recognized in such an unfortunate yet somewhat opportune manner, "busy with everything Asa's been asking for."

"Really? This whole time?"

"I've been extremely busy." Rocky looked over to Mordecai as he tried to blankly pass his lie.

"Well anyway," the passenger began, "anythin' we need to know?"

"Surely you already know about the Treasurer, yes?" Mordecai noted, subtly eyeing to Rocky, although what he was trying to signal, Rocky wasn't sure.

"Course," the passenger nodded.

"Well, he's around." Mordecai put a smidge of emphasis on the word 'around'. Rocky quietly and subtly mouthed 'oh' and he stood up straight and slowly sauntered around the car.

The driver looked over at Rocky for a moment, but then looked back. "Yeah, got it. Anything… else…" The driver seemed to be remembering something as he trailed off.

Mordecai began, "Other than that, I—"

"Wait, you got kidnapped! By the Lackadaisy!"

"Yeah… I thought I heard that, too," the passenger added.

The driver turned around and saw Rocky with his hand suspiciously in his suit, reaching for his gun. Rocky stopped dead in his tracks. "You're from the Lackadaisy, aren't you?"

"Uh…" Rocky thought.

"And you never got released by them, did you?" the passenger shouted.

The driver reached into his own suit pocket for his gun, "There's some funny business going on, and I don—"

"No. There's no funny business," Mordecai dryly stated before he pulled out his gun and shot the driver in the chest. Then he quickly shot him a second time, in the lower throat. The driver reached up to his wounds, dropping his gun, nearly gasping.

The passenger grabbed his own gun and pointed it at Mordecai, but before he could pull the trigger, Rocky shot right at the back of his head, spreading pink mist in the air with the sound of a crack. The passenger immediately collapsed forward onto the grass, blood gushing out into the damp soil.

Mordecai stepped back as blood splashed onto his feet. He looked down with a grimace. "Oh, my shoes."

Rocky craned his neck and looked down at the bodies, clearly cringing. He slowly stepped closer to Mordecai. "I guess that was as easy as you said it'd be. I… didn't dislike that any less this time, though."

"Hopefully you won't _like_ it at any point." Mordecai put his gun away in his pocket.

"Well, yeah. But… how can you be fine with it?"

"This is what we do, regardless of whether or not we necessarily want to, so we have to be able to block it out or ignore it to some degree, yes?" Rocky half-nodded, despite his mild and temporary confusion at the pronoun 'we', "And perhaps you can think about it this way: these four dying might mean we don't have to fight a raid back at the establishment, so that might mean fewer deaths in total." Mordecai started walking over toward the road. Rocky grabbed the umbrella and started walking alongside him.

"I don't think I really wanna do this forever, though."

"Well, if the Lackadaisy does well, and you manage to end your relationship with it on a positive note, then perhaps you won't have to."

"What about you?" Rocky wondered as he started opening the umbrella above him. It continued to drizzle, although it was slowly picking up again.

"For the time being, I don't believe I have any choice in the matter, so there's not any reason to think about that," Mordecai cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.

"But what do you _want?_" Rocky held the umbrella between the two of them, so as to cover both of the boys.

"...I think that simply out of a matter of safety, I would like to stop as soon as I would possibly be able. Once matters are resolved, loose ends tied up, debts are settled, and I might no longer need to owe any allegiances."

"When might that happen?"

"Perhaps sooner than I think," Mordecai quietly pondered.

Both of them were silent for a short bit as they walked. Then, Rocky asked, "What are we gonna do with all of this now?" He half-gestured back behind them at the car and the corpses.

"We'll bring the truck over there, then you'll help me pile the other bodies into the car back there. Then, one of us will drive the truck, one of us will drive the car, and we'll return to the speakeasy."

"Oh. Alright."

Mordecai arrived at the truck and got in, briefly investigating about, trying to see if there was anything else that the two needed to know about. When there wasn't, he started up the truck again, and Rocky hastily sat in the passenger seat, and Mordecai pulled it over towards the crime scene. Then, leaving the truck running, the two jumped out and started to handle the bodies.

Four bodies were heaped up in the back of the Marigolds' car. It was a bit obvious, really. So, Mordecai and Rocky's jackets went onto the pile to cover it up. At least, as much as they could. Rocky volunteered to drive the car with the bodies. Mordecai was mildly surprised but confidently confided it to him.

The rain continued to pick up, so it was judged, after looking for any potential evidence from the bodies, like clothes scraps, bone chunks, or clumps of fur, and dealing with the little bit that they found, that the rain would deal with the rest. Mordecai sat in the truck again, and Rocky got into the car, and they started back toward the road and over the Eads Bridge again.

Back at the garage, Viktor was standing around, looking intimidating, perhaps just for the sake of it, with the car he'd driven parked inside. Rocky arrived first, as Mordecai wanted to make sure everything was fine from behind in their pseudo-convoy. Rocky parked into the empty space inside.

He jumped out and walked over to Viktor. He told him that Mordecai was coming in a separate car and that Viktor should pull his car out and park it on the street to make room. Viktor grunted in an emotionally neutral manner, then he walked to the car he'd driven and pulled it out of the garage just as Mordecai approached.

Mordecai pulled the truck into the garage, then spent a few seconds meticulously centering it in the space he was provided before stepping out. He walked around the truck to the back, as Rocky stepped over beside him, and Viktor watched with an intrigued gaze before he turned to bring the garage's door down. As he was about to, he saw Mitzi walking down the alley.

"I thought I saw y'all come by," Mitzi greeted, walking into the garage. Viktor shut the door after she had entered. She began to close her own umbrella.

"Indeed. And we come bearing gifts," Mordecai said as he opened the back of the truck, revealing crate after crate of alcohol stacked up nearly to the top of the space.

"Oh, and, uh, four dead bodies," Rocky interjected.

Mitzi looked over to Rocky, "Well, we can deal with that." She looked back to the contents of the truck. "This is wonderful. All of this can keep us running for a while. And it didn't cost us a dime."

"I mean, some people died," Rocky again added.

"Well, yes," Mitzi somewhat solemnly acknowledged, "but maybe this'll finally send a message to Asa. Hopefully, he'll de-escalate things."

"If not, they'll do this again next week," Mordecai gestured.

"If you're able to do this again, then, yeah, not a bad idea," Mitzi said.

"Anyway, I'm gonna go get, uh, the _muscle,_ to help unload all of this, okay?" Rocky stated, opening the umbrella over him.

"Oh, thank you, Rocky," Mitzi thanked. Rocky responded with a decisive nod and then he marched through the rain and out of the alley. Viktor watched him leave and then quietly huffed and walked over to the truck.

Mitzi stepped ahead, farther into the garage. Quietly, she said to Mordecai, "You know, I might've been wrong about you." She set her umbrella on a crate to the side.

Mordecai took a small step closer, looking down at Mitzi from behind as she bent down to grab a crumpled up tarp up off the ground, "And why's that?"

"Well, I can't say I've had much trust in you since you arrived in the midst of a raid you were leadin'."

"Oh, is that so?" Mordecai sarcastically retorted.

"Yeah, I haven't exactly tried to hide it." Mitzi started folding the tarp in half, with her arms outstretched at each side, holding a corner each. "I mean, I thought you were tryin' to seduce Rocky and use him to escape." She scoffed slightly. "You haven't been doin' that, have you? Seducing Rocky?"

"I haven't purposefully— Rocky's not being… There hasn't been any seducing of any kind. Of either of us," Mordecai struggled to respond succinctly.

Mitzi stopped folding for a second and glanced over at the mildly flustered Mordecai. "What was that?"

"I… tripped."

"You're standin' completely still, honey." She turned back and resumed folding.

"It's these shoes."

"Those are the same shoes you had when you first came here, aren't they?"

"Yes. I have not been _seducing_ Rocky," Mordecai stated with a sort of scorn at the word.

"Well," she trailed off for a brief moment, "maybe there's reason for me to trust you yet. I mean, you just stole all this alcohol from your employer for me. Maybe I shouldn't have discounted you so quickly." She set the tarp down, folder twice, onto a couple of crates.

"Thank you."

Rocky returned with Freckle under the umbrella with him, "I got the muscle!"

"Oh, good," Mitzi responded.

Mordecai looked at Rocky, his pant legs wet with rain and his face adorned with a foolish grin. Speckles of blood had soaked into the hems of his trousers, and the gun Mordecai had trained him to use was sitting somewhat evidently in his pocket. And with his torso turned slightly to look at the group, folds of cloth in his suit twisted and conformed to his body. Rocky glanced into Mordecai's eyes, and he again stumbled upon the same realization: Rocky was in Mordecai's head, if him violently butchering his words a moment ago hadn't been proof enough. But at this point, he was starting to think that that was alright.


	46. Taking the Offensive

"I asked you the same thing two days ago, and you said you saw nothing!"

"I—I meant nothing I thought was_ important!_"

Asa pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seeing that guy is _very_ important! You _know_ he's from the Lackadaisy!"

"I knew that," the guy at the nervous one's side crowed.

"Then why didn't you say something the other day?" Asa shouted. He watched the guy squirm slightly and shrink back down. Asa sighed. "I honestly don't care enough about you two's situation. Just know that you're not handling deliveries anymore."

"What are we doing?" the first one asked.

"You two know how to use a gun?"

"...Is that so we can go raid the Lackadaisy?" the second wondered.

Asa stood still behind his desk, his chair pushed back behind him. Then, "Just answer the damn question."

The two guys looked at each other, then back. The second said, "We're not going near the Lackadaisy."

In a fit of knowing anger, hardly restraining himself as he spit out through clenched teeth, "And why's that?"

"Cause everyone who goes there ends up getting shot to death," the second explained.

Asa lowered his head in a sort of defeat. "Get out of my office."

"...Wh—"

"Get out," Asa demanded. The two grunts stood up from their chairs and immediately left, without another word.

Morale was low at the Maribel. The past several raids on the Lackadaisy had all failed, with very few Marigold survivors, and with little to nor damage or destruction on the other side. Suffice to say, that hadn't made it any easier for Asa. All of those gunmen dead meant that it was becoming near impossible for Asa to direct any sort of attack on them again, as everyone refused regardless of the reward promised. So that meant that no attack had taken place for the past few days, and that, for the foreseeable future, none would take place. But it wasn't like he could promise too much to begin with.

Because that Sunday delivery had failed to arrive, the hotel simply had to rely on what they had left and watered down what they could end up running out of. The combination of all the dead employees, the watered-down booze, and the increased popularity of the Lackadaisy meant that business was starting to dwindle as fewer and fewer patrons came in. It wasn't a mortal threat to the establishment, but it meant that money was starting to get a little tight.

In an effort to get things back on track, Asa got several new gunmen on the payroll; specifically, ones who were oblivious, at least, initially, to the deaths that had occurred before. They put an even further strain on the budget, but Asa knew that if he could take out the Lackadaisy, his investment would be returned. On top of that, he devised a new delivery plan, such that the Lackadaisy wouldn't make off with the upcoming week's truck. He relayed that plan to a sort of manager, who was to explain it to the new delivery team.

They forgot to explain that plan, and forgot it completely after getting drunk that night.

In between that Sunday and the next one, Wick returned to the Lackadaisy with some of his business partners. He arrived in the midst of a busy night, but yet still found himself sitting beside Mitzi and exchanging pleasantries. Wick congratulated Ms. May on her successfully righting the ship and expressed his pleasant surprise once again that she was able to properly utilize and pay off the loan she took from him. As it were, Wick was going to make himself a regular to the establishment once again; and _rather_ regular, if he was to be truthful.

Rocky patted his pockets. He looked around, his eyes darting about, as he tried to find something. "Oh— where did I put it?"

Mordecai, not looking up as he slid a fresh magazine into his pistol, wondered, "What is it?"

"The— the gun; I don't know where I—"

Mordecai slid his left-handed gun back into his suit. "Is it still in your car?"

Rocky looked up and snapped. "You're right. That's where I left it." Rocky quickened his pace as the two walked out into the garage, and Rocky went out to his car and, reaching in, pulled out a pistol from under a small pile of clothes on the back seat. He jogged back across the street to the garage, where Viktor was tossing a rag aside as he finished cleaning the windshield of his truck and where Mordecai was slightly loosening his tight black tie.

"You have it now?" Mordecai asked.

Rocky patted his suit pocket, where the gun had been slipped, "Yup."

Mordecai glanced back at Viktor, looking potentially annoyed as always, and he shot Mordecai an impatient glance. Mordecai looked back, "Are you ready to go, then?"

Rocky nodded, "As ready as I can be, sure." And with that, the two boys got into the back of the truck with Viktor, and they pulled out of the garage and onto the road, towards the Eads Bridge.

It was Sunday again, and Mitzi had instructed the two to try and steal the Maribel's deliveries again. Mordecai was considerably less certain of this one's success but went ahead regardless. Rocky was still rather unhappy with the whole 'pre-emptive attack' thing, but was somewhat apathetically reassured that it would result in fewer deaths overall by Mordecai— it wasn't that Mordecai _wanted _Rocky to be overwhelmed by what he was doing or anything like that, it was just that Mordecai didn't quite believe in what he was saying.

In the middle of the drive, as the two had been having light talk between themselves and with Viktor, Rocky yawned and stretched his arms, before adjusting his position so he was leaning back more, with his head resting back on the seat.

"Are you tired?" Mordecai questioned.

"Yeah, I, uh, didn't really sleep all that well last night," Rocky answered, sliding his head to the side slightly.

"Don't let that interfere with what we're going—" Mordecai stopped himself immediately. "Rocky, you're… leaning on me."

Rocky suddenly realized that his head was resting on Mordecai's shoulder. The two were sitting right next to each other, and Rocky, possibly out of tiredness, most likely out of subconscious desire, had leaned on Mordecai. Rocky sat up straight. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, Mordecai. I didn't, uh, realize—"

"It's fine. Just… it's fine," Mordecai stumbled, unable to tell Rocky that he had appreciated it.

"Okay. Sorry. I know that you're, uh, particular about things." Rocky was unable to say the same thing.

"Just try to get more sleep tonight." Mordecai had caught Viktor's ear perking up a moment ago, and saw him square his shoulders as Rocky continued to comment on it.

"Yeah, of course. I promise I'll get enough sleep. I'll make sure to, uh, keep doing it, too."

"I don't particularly care about your sleeping habits _that _much."

"Well, sure but—"

"Ve're here at bridge," Viktor interrupted.

Indeed, they were at the bridge again, although they were only crossing to the other side now, and Viktor still had to turn the car around and park it as they staked out for the conspicuous dummy truck. It was clear to Mordecai that Viktor simply wanted to put an end to the conversation.

After quite a bit more waiting than the previous week, the group was about to give up and admit that the Marigolds had changed policies to avoid a repeat situation, when Mordecai actually spotted the truck coming down the road. They waited for it to pass, and then, like last time, Rocky and Mordecai exited and went for the Marigolds staked out, far from the road.

It was easy to take out these two, although they made much of a mess on the ground, so Mordecai had to park the car over the blood again; they didn't even have rain to help them this time. And like clockwork, the delivery truck came down the road almost exactly ten minutes later, and the two boys were by the road courting the truck to stop again. And miraculously, neither the driver nor the passenger seemed to have been briefed on Mordecai or Rocky, as they came out and walked far away from the road just like the last guys.

And again, although with much less pleasant conversation, Mordecai and Rocky killed the last two Marigolds, creating another four bodies for Mitzi to deal with later. They were stacked into the car. Then, the two took a look at the truck. It was filled with even more alcohol than last time, again covered with a small tarp. And with a somewhat proud sort of satisfaction, the two took their spoils, as well as their casualties, and brought them back to the Lackadaisy.

Back at the Maribel, Asa was struggling to manage things yet still. Furiously, he yelled at the manager he had directed to relay his instructions to the delivery team. Then, he had to try and manage the speakeasy which, with two expensive delivery trucks now stolen, was starting to go into freefall. All of the drinks were significantly watered down now, which was having a very noticeable effect on the perceived quality of the establishment by the patrons. As a direct result, there were fewer and fewer patrons coming in as the days continued. To this, Asa continued to let off the rage he was developing as a result of his employee's incompetence by yelling at them. This further damaged morale.

It was July now. Summer was in full swing as the first week of the month had already passed. And, although he knew not the exact day of the month of his birth, Nico decided, one night, not of any particular importance, to celebrate it. With his sister, as well as few of the Marigolds he deemed as being worthy of his time, of the ones that were left, at least, he celebrated with watered-down booze and yet still boisterous and unrestrained partying. As of that night, at least, he decided, he was twenty-seven.

Serafine knew even less about her birth, but decided to celebrate it in perhaps a more opportune time of the year, when the alcohol was actually good, as she teased Nico about. He waved it off and said that even with the poor alcohol that they were serving, they could party, re-buttoning the top couple of buttons on his shirt, after undoing them so as to show off himself in a sort of way.

Asa looked into the Marigold Room, watching what little terrible alcohol they had left begin guzzled down, and watching them risk breaking the furniture that Asa wasn't sure he could afford to replace. He wanted to yell at Nico and Serafine to handle their delivery raiding problem, especially given their proficiency in that, and yet, he didn't. Not because he thought the Savoys were too incompetent now even though he sort of did, nor because he thought they might resist like all of his other employees, which he thought they would. Instead, he had finally managed to wrangle his gunmen into order again, as well as hire many new ones, and had planned for another, much larger raid on the Lackadaisy that exact night.

So he let Nico continue to indecently party, even though he was filled with a rage somewhat unbecoming of him. That was because, if, finally, just _one _of these raids worked as intended, he could afford to put up with the Savoys' party, as well as their apparently recent and sudden ineptitude. Indeed, with no one who seemed to be proficient at their job working with Asa now, he felt rather alone or isolated— trying to manage a _temporarily_ dwindling empire with little help.

Perhaps that showed that Mordecai was actually more integral to the Maribel than Asa had originally given him credit for. Regardless of the answer, Asa put it out of his mind; it was time for him to give the word.


	47. Tender

Mitzi looked back at the four new bodies stacked up behind her as Freckle opened the passenger side door to step out. Their forms were bloody messes, draped over each other, collectively haphazardly covered by one of their jackets drawn over the top corpse. She stared into the vacant, clouded over eyes for a moment. Even before Atlas's death, Mitzi roughly knew what kind of matters she would be associating with, including the types of scenarios that would lead to four bodies being dumped in the Mississippi. But having let herself get so involved in the feud with Asa, fighting to keep the business her late husband had labored to build alive, she'd let herself forget or perhaps stop caring about the carnage. Every week of operation meant more bodies. And although she had known what she might have been getting herself into, the blood was on her hands now, and it was becoming something Mitzi couldn't quite defend; even for Atlas's legacy. She only wished that the war could wrap up quickly, and with as little bloodshed as possible.

"...Are you okay?" Freckle asked into the car.

Mitzi turned her head quickly. "Oh, yes, sorry. Let me help you out." She opened the driver side door and stood up. And then the bodies were disposed of cleanly and discreetly, before the two returned to the car and brought it back to the Little Daisy's garage, where it would need a deep cleaning to remove the smells and the stains— Viktor's job, evidently.

Asa was walking from the Savoys' party down to where his lackeys were, waiting for him to give the go-ahead. His only mildly preoccupied mind quickly wandered away from the Savoys back to business and finances. Indeed, many of his gunmen had died. And while their deaths and the subsequent hiring of new ones had put a strain on money, his mind incidentally landed on the same thing that had occupied Mitzi's mind earlier in the day— the blood on his hands. Indeed, he was in charge here— he was making these decisions that were killing these many people. And he was moments away from making what could end up being another such decision. And yet, while his morals muddled and apprehended him, much more was on the line if he let the Lackadaisy continue to thrive. So, he marched on.

That night, the establishment opened to an even larger crowd; one nearly reminiscent of the old days Mitzi had been fighting to preserve. And while Mitzi schmoozed, Ivy stayed up in the café, Horatio admitted patrons by the door, Freckle served drinks, Viktor stood watch in the packed hall, and Mordecai and Rocky were in the garage again. It had become a sort of arrangement; nearly instinctual in its execution. This structure had served extremely well so far, so no one was inclined to shake things up.

Like the many days before, very little happened. The preemptive raids against the Marigolds had surely thrown them off of any ideas of taking the offensive again— something that made Rocky feel ever so slightly more okay with those strikes. And in that time, Rocky and Mordecai talked and lounged about, like they had become accustomed to during these nights. Mordecai got less comfortable than Rocky would, as he was wont to do, but regardless, the two were nowhere near as rigid and perceptive as they had been weeks ago, when the threats were ever-present.

And yet, only the sound of one shoving a magazine into their gun and a suppressed cough right outside alerted them to anyone's presence. Rocky's ears perked, and Mordecai began to stand up as the intruders started to bash in the already badly abused door. With only seconds to respond, the two got up, armed themselves, and pulled back, behind the multiple automobiles parked in the garage.

The door gave way, and immediately gunmen streamed in, filling the far wall out quickly; there were far more assailants than ever before here. Popping out to take shots could easily result in getting half a dozen bullets in the head if they saw him. Right next to Rocky, behind a truck, Mordecai looked over to Rocky and subtly gestured to the trapdoor down into the limestone tunnels. If they could make it down there without getting shot, then they'd have a bottleneck to keep from having to deal with all of the Marigolds all at once.

Rocky nodded, and in an instantaneous and tense pause, the two took a deep breath, and then they rushed for the trapdoor. Rocky flung up the trapdoor and sprinted in, with Mordecai racing down the stairs in tow. And against all odds, while a few shots rang out, none struck Rocky or Mordecai. But, as soon as the two had disappeared behind the threshold and were in the tunnels, loud stomping and scampering could be heard as gunmen were funneled down into the tunnel.

Mordecai and Rocky had just barely been able to get behind the corner by the time that the intruders were at the bottom, with their guns raised. Having managed to retreat slightly without getting shot, Rocky tried to ignore his anxious near-panting and leaned out to take aim at the enemies, as did Mordecai.

And with their first two shots, Rocky and Mordecai wounded the front couple of gunmen, and yet still kept from being shot. But, as they continued to shoot, reload, re-aim, and shoot again, the gunmen continued to approach— a venerable army undeterred by or perhaps ignorant of the deaths at the Lackadaisy's hands. And with their approach, as well as their continued, yet somewhat ineffective, resistance, Rocky and Mordecai deemed it necessary to pull back yet again.

The next corner, alcove, or general nook to use for cover was a small ways away. Rocky dashed for it as Mordecai provided cover. And then, as Rocky anchored himself behind his new cover, he shot out at the phalanx slowly yet surely approaching as Mordecai ran back.

That wasn't their last small tactical retreat, as the fighting continued on for much too long for adrenaline to continue to push them through. Perhaps the Marigolds' plan was to simply overwhelm their small cohort with numbers alone, despite the bottleneck— mild exhaustion began to befall the defenders as body after body fell down to the cold ground while the infantry advanced yet. Surely it was no more than maybe a few dozen men, though the stressed fighting made it feel like hundreds or thousands. And though, yes, the intruders were dropping, they weren't going without a fight. No injuries had come upon Rocky or Mordecai yet, which could be attributed to some degree to their planned and tight defense, mostly on Mordecai's behalf. Yet, their tense fighting, which, at least, to them, seemed to drag on and on, opened the opportunity for mistakes in the midst of their fatigue.

The enemy's numbers were dropping, and past all of the soldiers, there was an end to the battalion in sight. Through whatever means, Asa had managed to steel these men such that they were advancing without apprehension, stepping over the dying bodies of their allies. Raising a de facto paramilitary group was impressive, surely. No such rigorous training had been completed with Rocky. Mordecai had experience, and yet.

His left foot was planted out into the hall slightly, with his arm outstretched and his gun aimed for the gunmen in the front— close enough to be a threat. Indeed, he stepped out farther into their line of sight than would be necessary. It was hard to say what factor, if any single one was to blame, was responsible for that mistake, but it wasn't important. Under his arm, relatively close to his shoulder, in the softer, medial flesh of his upper arm, a bullet entered, striking a blood vessel, and exited the other side, having passed through a small but important width of tissue.

Mordecai didn't scream, but dropped his pistol on the ground with a shudder of sorts. He withdrew behind the cover again and leaned his back against the wall, effectively turning away from the danger. He looked at his arm. Immediately, dark red blood was oozing out of the wound, ruining the suit and spelling serious injury.

Rocky pulled back from behind the corner to notice Mordecai, sliding down against the wall from a standing position as his right hand put pressure on the wound. Rocky's eyes went wide and he turned away from the combat towards Mordecai. "Did you get shot?" Rocky hastily questioned.

"Yes. Deal with the Marigolds first," Mordecai grunted as vermillion dripped out from between his fingers and down from his drooping hand.

"Bu—"

"If they get over here we'll both die; keep shooting," Mordecai loudly but sternly ordered.

Rocky, against his instincts, went back to the corner. With no backup any longer, he had to take out the remaining dozen or so Marigolds. Their approach was expedited by the removal of one of the defenders and by the sudden morale boost because of the same thing. Rocky wanted nothing more than to turn back and help Mordecai. But, he took aim again and continued.

With a perhaps reckless attitude, Rocky faced off against the remaining gunmen. One bullet struck through his coat, putting a hole through the fabric, missing his body completely, though damaging his suit. And, before the last Marigold was offed, another such hole was made in his suit. It felt like an eternity, although it perhaps was closer to a minute.

Rocky rushed down the tunnel to handle and stragglers or still hidden gunmen. And peeking up into the garage, he reckoned there were none. As such, he began to sprint back down towards Mordecai, and Rocky nearly dropped his gun as he tried to shove it in his suit pocket. Indeed, Mordecai had leaned against the limestone wall, then slid downward until sitting down against it, the back of his suit dirtied and slightly damaged against the rocky surface.

Rocky dropped to one knee in front of the bleeding form. "Where'd you get shot?" he hastily spat out.

Mordecai held up his left arm, which he'd already been tightly gripping with his right, holding it up at a slight angle. Below his grasp was a dark and oozing bullet wound in the tender flesh of his inner arm. The bullet had entered into the side of his arm and came out the back, only traveling through a small distance on the side of his arm, away from any bones and hopefully away from any arteries or nerves. Rocky's gaze slightly drifted as he followed the blood, dripping down from his arm, onto his pants and into a growing puddle on the uneven ground, his hot blood surely warming up the cold limestone.

"Are they all gone?" Mordecai asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Rocky answered.

"Good." Rocky watched as the fingers in Mordecai's right hand loosened their grip on the wound before again tensing up and putting pressure on it, even harder now.

Rocky's free hand immediately grabbed the arm as well, putting additional pressure on the wound, getting his hands consequently washed in Mordecai's blood as well. "Are you okay?" Rocky shook his head. "Well, of course you aren't. Ah, uh, what d'you need? What should I get?"

"Take off," Mordecai grunted, "my tie. Use it as a tourniquet."

"Tie, tie, tie," Rocky repeated as he undid his own tie with speed, "where do I put it?"

"Above the wound."

Rocky took the tie and began to wrap and tie it around Mordecai's arm. He paused for a brief second. "How tight?"

"As tight as you can." Rocky nodded and proceeded to make an extremely tight wrap, cutting off circulation to the wound. Mordecai exhaled. "Help me up, if you would."

Rocky, trying to not be too quick or strong, started to hoist up Mordecai from the ground, his own shoulder supporting the uninjured shoulder and his arm wrapped around Mordecai's back, with his hand holding onto Mordecai's middle.

Mordecai quietly groaned, but got to his own two feet, but leaned on Rocky for some support. "Let's go back and call for Quackenbush."

"Of course. Here, let's walk back." Rocky walked slowly, in tandem with Mordecai. He looked up and gazed into Mordecai's eyes, which were looking down at his own feet. "Let me know if I'm hurting you, okay?"

"If you do, it'll be no more than the bullet, I assure you."

"Well, sure, but I meant more— no, you should be saving your energy or whatever; just… hold on."

The two were quiet as Rocky and Mordecai walked back to the establishment proper. Mordecai wasn't necessarily in need of any help walking by Rocky; nothing had happened to his legs or his core, but the blood loss had made it a bit more cumbersome, and he did appreciate the assistance.

Rocky's arm around his abdomen, squeezing him slightly, drawing him closer to Rocky's warm and pleasant touch. The concern he'd seen in Rocky's eyes when Rocky kneeled down in front of him after getting shot. The care and appreciation Rocky had consistently shown him, even when he hadn't necessarily done anything to deserve it. Rocky was such a compassionate, thoughtful person, even if his demeanor and his messy habits sometimes deceived him.

And Mordecai had spent weeks deliberating over these thoughts, these experiences, and these feelings. And although he'd come closer to figuring out what he ought to do, he'd never committed one way or the other— it was one of the first times he'd ever felt so acutely indecisive. But there, as his blood slowly but surely oozed out of his arm, and as the risk of needing to amputate as a result of the tourniquet grew by the minute, and as Rocky's bony shoulder jabbed into his axilla, he made up his mind.

"I… have something I need to say," Mordecai admitted.

"No, conserve your energy. You can say it later, okay?" Rocky whispered.

No, it was important that Mordecai said this— that he got it off of his chest. That he confronted what had been weeks in the making.

"Rocky, I love you."

Rocky immediately stopped dead in his tracks. Mordecai kept along for a split second before Rocky's grip tugged at his inertia and pulled him back slightly. Rocky noticed that he'd pulled Mordecai like that and he immediately became regretful and embarrassed. "Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine." Rocky's hand pressing into Mordecai's middle, just under his ribcage, had hurt a little bit, but it wasn't important.

"Okay. Sorry." Rocky slowly started walking with Mordecai again. Then, remembering what Mordecai had just admitted a moment ago, "...What do you mean, Mordecai?" Rocky slowly and softly asked. He was… overwhelmed. And baffled. And ecstatic. And yet still immeasurably worried.

"I thought that that was clear enough," Mordecai nearly unnoticeably smiled.

It was really the first time Rocky had seen him smile. It was a bit of a bizarre time to be smiling, but Rocky still found himself practically entranced by Mordecai's facetious smile, and he found his face getting redder. "Well, yeah, but…"

"When we first met, I could hardly tolerate you. But then you made sure that I was treated well. And I realized that you didn't look terrible, either." Rocky blushed and half-smiled because of the underhanded compliment and because Mordecai's confession became even more real as he spoke. "And despite your obsession with pancakes and your intense energy, I eventually realized I had feelings for you." Mordecai divulged, despite the pain. Rocky looked ahead as they walked. "Not despite; it was because of your energy and your enthusiasm and your ideals, perhaps." He sighed. "I suppose I don't know why I like you."

Mordecai continued, "But I had heard your conversation with your cousin when you had first let me shower in Mitzi's tenement." Rocky quietly laughed, bashful. "So I knew how you felt about me. But because of my obligations to the Marigolds and what had happened with Viktor, I tried to suppress it and ignore it. You didn't make that easy, though."

He could hardly even notice the blood loss or pain from his gunshot wound now, and how could he? Mordecai was pouring his whole heart out. "You wore me down." Rocky smiled fully, despite the circumstances he found the both of them in. "And I have to confront it. These past couple of days, especially this last one, have taught me that not taking this opportunity to let you know how I feel would be a mistake. From which, I wouldn't forgive myself."

His pace picked up yet still. "And I know that I'm not typically so verbose— I try not to be, but I can feel the weak limpness in my arm, and my breathing pick up, and my heart rate slow, so in case this kills me, I need to have at least told you— Rocky, I love you."

"Now's… a hell of a time to tell me," Rocky half-chuckled, looking down at his own ruby-splattered hand. Then, Rocky pulled Mordecai closer. Rocky leaned his head against Mordecai's shoulder, in the warm alcove of his neck. "And I guess you already know this, but, I love you too, Mordecai."

"I do. But it sounds good to hear it."

Rocky felt the adrenaline again course through his veins, but also felt an indescribable happiness in his heart. "And you're not gonna die, Mordecai. We're gonna fix this, okay? You're gonna be alright."

"Good," Mordecai inhaled, "cause I don't want to lose you."


	48. Reciprocated

Having left a trail of blood from back towards the garage all the way through the limestone tunnels to the edge of the establishment, right by its threshold. Rocky looked ahead to see Ivy and Mitzi standing by the opposite wall, looking and talking to each other. And by the door was Horatio. All three of them looked rather nervous, and occasionally Horatio sort of jumped. Rocky could hear muffled gunshots from the stairs.

Rocky started walking into the establishment, towards Mitzi. She looked over and noticed Rocky, and then Mordecai and his bleeding arm. Her eyes widened and she stepped away from the wall, leading Ivy's gaze towards the injured Mordecai. Mitzi quickly started walking towards the two of them and ushering them back behind the threshold. Rocky stopped in his tracks but did not return back. Mitzi stepped beside Rocky and urged, "Come back here, in the tunnel, come on," as she put her hand on Rocky's shoulder and with a light touch led them back.

Once Mitzi saw that they were out of view of the still unaware patrons by the stage she turned back and in a tense and concerned voice, asked, "What happened?"

Rocky still held Mordecai closely at his side as he began to explain the situation, "A few dozen Marigolds burst into the garage and we came back into the tunnels, and we were shooting at each other for a while. And then a few minutes ago, Mordecai got shot in the arm." Rocky pointed out the bullet wound in his arm, "And he's bleeding a lot. You need to call Dr. Quackenbush right now."

"Hold on. You should sit down, Mordecai. Over here, sit," Mitzi offered a spot a bit further into the tunnel, away from its opening.

"Yes, just one moment," Mordecai replied as he leaned against the wall.

Mitzi turned to Rocky and ordered, "Well, I'll handle Mordecai; you need to go back and guard the garage."

"What? Why?" Rocky wondered with a near-disgust.

"Rocky, your cousin and Viktor are dealin' with some Marigolds up front right now. And if Asa managed to get this many to come here, there's no reason why more couldn't come. And right now, the garage is completely unguarded. I need you to make sure no one comes in from that way."

"No. I need to make sure Mordecai's okay."

Mitzi paused for a second and was about to open her mouth to start arguing with Rocky when Mordecai began to speak, "Rocky, I'll be alright. Go watch the garage."

Mitzi looked back up to Rocky from Mordecai to see his response. Rocky deliberated for a moment, then whispered, "Yeah, okay." Then, louder, "But Dr. Quackenbush needs to be called as soon as possible; don't make Mordecai wait for a second longer than he needs to, okay?"

Rocky looked at Mitzi, seeing as a mild confusion came across her face. Then, she responded, "Of course."

And with that, Rocky turned and started to walk back down the hall, with increased speed. He started to pull his gun out of his suit pocket, to check the ammunition, when he heard Mordecai pipe up behind him again, "I love you."

Mitzi watched Mordecai say this with interest, although not a lot of surprise, all said. Mordecai grunted quietly as he began to slowly sit down against the wall. Rocky stopped, then turned around and walked back towards Mordecai. He put his gun back and stopped Mordecai before he sat down. Rocky reached out with both of his hands and gently grabbed the sides of Mordecai's face. Rocky spoke, softly— barely above a whisper, "Just in case something happens to either of us…"

Rocky leaned in, closing his eyes. His left hand pulled away from Mordecai's face and went around to his back, very gently pulling them closer, and his right drifted to the back of Mordecai's head, at the base of his skull, by his neck. Rocky's thumb rested below his ear, and his fingers meshed with Mordecai's somewhat longer and more unkempt fur as Rocky pulled his lips even closer. It was hardly necessary, as Mordecai reciprocated with a sort of vigor, despite his injury.

For what felt like a very long time, Rocky and Mordecai kissed, holding each other tightly. Rocky's gun pressed up against Mordecai's chest, and vice versa. And finally, they slowly pulled away. Rocky slowly drew in a breath and then sighed as the two stared into each other's eyes. Somehow, despite the dim light and the blood loss, Rocky's eyes looked bluer and more beautiful than they'd ever looked before.

For several seconds, silent except for the quiet breathing from the two, they stared at each other, forgetting all of the tribulations that had come their way on their journey to this moment, overjoyed to simply be taking in the other. A small grin crept onto Rocky's face. And Mordecai couldn't help but start to smile himself.

"...I don't want to ruin this moment," Mitzi quietly added, "but I do think a Marigold coming this way and shooting y'all would damper the mood." She got neither of the two's eyes. "There'll be plenty of time for kissin' later."

Rocky looked up at Mitzi and then back at Mordecai. Mordecai, still with a small smile, slowly and subtly nodded. Rocky looked back at Mitzi and hesitantly nodded, too. Rocky stared into Mordecai's eyes and whispered back to him, "I love you, too," and then he slowly withdrew.

He slowly started to back up down the tunnel, looking back at Mordecai. Mordecai gave another nod, and he started to take a seat on the ground again. Rocky turned around and started to rush down the hall again, grabbing his gun out of his pocket again.

At the farther end of the tunnels, where the fighting had occurred, there was immense carnage; bodies were strewn across the bloody floor, and in some places, Rocky found it difficult to step over the bodies towards the garage. Eventually, however, he pressed on to the stairs, which themselves were rather clean still, and up into the garage. His gun was raised, his finger on the trigger, as he anticipated perhaps one or two Marigolds to still be lingering, perhaps. But, there were none. Instead, just a slightly roughed up room, with its door completely broken. He peeked his head out into the alley, still armed, to look for any more grunts. When he found none, he tried his best to press shut the heavily damaged door, and managed with effort, although it could no longer be locked.

Rocky sat by the door on a crate, still with his gun, lying to himself that he was alert and ready to deal with any potential intruders; indeed, his mind was busy thinking about Mordecai, and everything that had happened.

For weeks, Rocky had had feelings for Mordecai— feelings which had only intensified as time went on. And now, Mordecai had reciprocated those same feelings, and in a confession that Rocky could clearly discern came from his heart. That alone brought so many unorganized thoughts to his mind. Mordecai had known about Rocky's feelings nearly this entire time? Why hadn't he said anything? Was Miss M. okay with that? What was gonna happen with Viktor? What was gonna happen with Mordecai's 'obligations'? What happens next with the two of them?

And then, the kiss that the two had just shared. It had been passionate, warm, and extremely desirous. Despite some of the circumstances, Rocky didn't think he could have asked for anything better. But still, he worried immensely about Mordecai. Mordecai had directly assured him that he was gonna be alright, and yet. There had been so much blood lost, it seemed, and who knew how long it might take for someone to get a hold of Dr. Quackenbush, or for him to get here? What a cruel joke it would be for Rocky to have his feelings finally reciprocated for Mordecai to simply die. What a cruel punishment it was to have him sit nearly on the opposite side of the building just so that he could stop nobody from entering. What a strange fate it was for such a cold and callous person to die a heart—

The door was being pushed against, as someone was grunting on the other side. Rocky stood up immediately and pulled his gun out. Why were his hands shaking so much? He tried to focus on his hands and steady them, but to no avail. Why was he breathing so hard? He hadn't done anything to warrant it. And had the pistol always been so sweaty and hard to hold?

The door burst forth, for the second time that night, and a figure stood in the doorway. Rocky raised his gun, and the figure immediately put their hands up with a small yelp. It wasn't a Marigold; it was a Quackenbush.

Rocky lowered his gun. "Oh, hello." Apparently it had been long enough for him to be called and to arrive. Maybe it had been fifteen or twenty minutes already?

Dr. Quackenbush lowered his hands and took a deep breath, "And a fine hello to you as well." He dusted his shoulder off, which he seemed to have used to push open the bent and dented door, "Well, where is the injured one?"

"Oh, this way," Rocky nearly blurted out as he started to lead the other towards the trapdoor.

Quackenbush hesitated for a moment, "I'm not walking into danger, am I?"

"Did you see anyone suspicious outside when you walked over here?"

"No."

"Then we'll be fine. Let's go." Rocky lifted up the trapdoor and held it open for Dr. Quackenbush.

Very quickly, the number of corpses on the ground became apparent to Quackenbush, and that made it once again apparent to Rocky. "I suppose that this is where that bullet wound came from?" Quackenbush suggested.

"Yeah… you're not gonna say anything about all of this, are you?"

"I assure you, my taciturnity is my most profitable quality; I won't say a word to anyone."

"Good."

"Now, this isn't the big one who got shot in the chest the other month, is it?"

"No, no. It's the smaller one. Dark, with glasses. Really calculated." Rocky cleared his throat.

"Oh, I know him. I was under the impression that he was in the Maribel's sphere?"

"Well, uh, no? It's complicated," Rocky rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, blushing mildly.

"I know I wouldn't be getting such an urgent call at this time of night for a Marigold, so it can't be so complicated."

"You don't understand. A lot has happened."

Dr. Quackenbush looked at Rocky's anxious and subtly reddening face and then looked back down the tunnel as they approached the establishment, nearing Mordecai, "I think I _will _understand in just a minute."

"Is it that obvious?" Rocky blurted out.

"I'm afraid so."

"You won't…"

"As I've said, me staying quiet is why you people keep contacting me and paying me. Here, it's no different."

"Thank you."

"You know, you remind me of when I was younger… I'm sure you'll do just fine." Quackenbush gave a small smile to Rocky, who did much the same and nodded subtly, "But before that, let's make sure to treat this bullet wound."


	49. Anesthesia

Emerging from the stairwell was a blood-spattered Viktor and a rather vicious-looking Freckle. Horatio stood at the side, especially nervous, as the two came back into the establishment. And up on the stage, since it had worked so surprisingly well the last time they needed a distraction, Mitzi was softly crooning, trying her very best to keep all the patrons' heads swiveled in her direction.

Once again, the task at hand was to make the stairs presentable again. Fortunately, in the previous weeks, Mitzi had had the foresight to go out and buy a big stack of cheap towels for this specific purpose, and they were sitting in the corner behind the counter, right by the front. And the various cleaning supplies that had worked to mask it all were still sitting in the tunnel, not too far from where Mordecai was sitting.

So, while Freckle, Viktor, Ivy, and Horatio started to dart around to clean up the scene, Rocky and Quackenbush arrived at Mordecai's side. He was sitting there looking rather drained. His arm was propped up, resting his elbow on his knee, having tucked his foot in closer to him. And while he sat alone against the wall, the fur on his arm matted down by blood, and his suit keeping him warm with the blood soaked into it, and a small pool of blood around him, he stared vacantly off into space.

Dr. Quackenbush kneeled down at Mordecai's side. On the other side, Rocky sat down against the wall, holding Mordecai. Quackenbush spoke up, "Hello, my name is Leo Quackenbush, although I assume you already know that." He started to get his tools and various instruments prepared.

"Yes," Mordecai responded, staring at Rocky.

"And can you tell me your name?"

Mordecai looked back to Leo. "Mordecai."

"Good. Do you know what happened to you and where you are?"

"I was shot in the arm. This is the Lackadaisy. You know this already, yes?"

"Yes, but it doesn't hurt to check that you're all with us." Leo dried his hands off on a small towel from his own supply. Neither Rocky nor Mordecai had seen what he had put on his hands. Leo looked up at the lights. "Here, come this way some, if you can. A little bit more light would be advantageous."

With a bit of help from Rocky, Mordecai shuffled along the wall under one of the overhead lights. Mordecai leaned against the cool stone of the wall with a grunt, after exerting himself, despite his injury. Dr. Quackenbush lightly held up Mordecai's left arm with one hand, and closely examined it with the other. "You were only shot once, yes?"

"Yes."

"Alright then. It looks like there's a clear entrance and exit wound. Although, it seems to have struck a vein, and perhaps a nerve. I'd wager that that's the basilic and the… brachial cutaneous. I don't have any money to put down, though." Dr. Quackenbush pulled back.

"Oh, do you need me to— to go get Miss M.?" Rocky asked.

Dr. Quackenbush looked at Rocky's concerned countenance then back to the somewhat woozy Mordecai. "I think… I can make an exception on upfront payment just this once." Leo started rummaging about through his materials. Looking back up for a second, "But don't let your boss think that that'll happen again."

"Of course," Rocky nodded.

"Well anyway, I'll have to administer a bit of anesthesia to patch your arm up." He pulled out a small bottle in one hand, with his other holding a sort of surgical needle.

Mordecai shuddered. "Rocky, would you stay?"

Rocky looked at the hapless casualty, seeing in him an unrevealed aversion to such an austere or draconian medical response. Seeing how Mordecai acted when Rocky had been grazed by bullets, he truly didn't know that Mordecai had any sort of fear of such things. After Mordecai had been patched up, and when he was in at least alright spirits, Rocky would ask about it.

Rocky nodded, smiling thinly, "Of course, Mordecai. I'll make sure you're alright."

Mordecai looked into Rocky's cerulean eyes for just a hesitant moment. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned back and said, "Go ahead, then."

He looked away as Leo brought the needle towards him, and tried to keep from tensing up as he felt the prick and the pinch of the needle breaking his skin. Mordecai leaned against Rocky as the pain in his arm slowly subsided, and his thoughts and perception of the dark hall around him became blearier and less comprehensible.

Dragging the Marigolds' bodies into the tunnel was Viktor and Freckle. Their first trip into the tunnel was uneventful, but the second time, they both independently noticed Mordecai's head leaning on Rocky's shoulder. Rocky didn't notice. Freckle lingered for a short moment, staring and thinking. Viktor seemed to not care and grunted as he continued to haul the cadaver to its temporary resting place. Horatio and Ivy also noticed the two, as they were busy getting the cleaning supplies and disposing of bloodied towels. Collectively, it seemed that they decided not to bother asking Rocky to help them with the cleanup.

Rocky looked away as Dr. Quackenbush attended to the bullet wound with his tools. It wasn't particularly gory or bloody, but it was uncomfortable to see, and even more uncomfortable to think about. But, even as Quackenbush started to wrap up, he elected not to leave Mordecai— not yet, at least.

He wasn't exactly sure how much time had passed when Mitzi came by. Surely, long enough for the entire crime scene in the stairs to be made prim and proper again, as well as long enough for Quackenbush to fix Mordecai's bullet wound; indeed, the anesthetics were starting to wear off, and Mordecai was slowly but surely becoming lucid again.

"Well, if you're over here, then I assume that everything went well in the garage?" Mitzi wondered.

"There was nobody there," Rocky nearly whispered.

Mitzi saw Rocky turn his eyes back to Mordecai, staring at his peaceful countenance. "...All of the patrons are gone, so you can leave if you want."

"No, I think I'd rather not. Not yet."

Mitzi sat down against the wall beside Rocky. Rocky turned over to look at her as she sat, then followed Mitzi's gaze back to Mordecai. "You know, it was pretty obvious that you had feelings for him."

"Yeah," he sighed, "I think I've learned that at this point."

"But as long as you're confident that this isn't a ploy for him to escape, then—"

"What are you talking about?" He's been shooting at his own team for weeks now!" Rocky quietly shouted.

"I know, but I just need to be at least a little tentative about the things th—"

"What more evidence do you need that he's not trying anything?" Rocky swallowed, "That he's not a bad guy?"

"Rocky, I'm not saying that. Really, I think that what y'all have is wonderful. Love is hard to keep alive in this job." Mitzi was silent for a moment. She cleared her throat. "It's just the business perspective that I need to think from sometimes. I don't like doin' it, but it's my job now."

"It's okay. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry about anything. Take advantage of this relationship when Mordecai recovers." Rocky nodded slightly. "And, on a different note, maybe talk to him about Viktor. I heard that him and Viktor sort of worked some things out, but I think somethin' like this might upset him some. So, just… discuss that with him. I don't want another fight I have to stop, especially when I know you guys can sort it out peacefully."

"Okay."

The two were silent for a prolonged moment. "Mordecai could be a great asset to the team." Rocky turned to her. "I don't know what y'all were thinkin' about what he would do after all of this, but know that I'm open to hiring him again, if he wants."

"...I'll let him know."

"Alright." Mitzi started to stand, "In a strange way, you two are made for each other. You keep each other in check."

Rocky took a moment to nod with understanding.

"And," Mitzi added, "You don't have to put him back in the storeroom tonight. I trust y'all enough."

"I'm sure he'll be glad to hear that."

"As long as he doesn't try to kill me or get back to Asa, he can do whatever he wants, alright?"

"Alright."

"Now," she sighed, "you can stay here if you want to— and I don't blame you if you do— but I have to go take care of that mess by the garage with the others now."

"Sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry about that. The fact that y'all took care of all of them and only got shot _once?_ Just know that I'm very impressed. I think he's a good influence on you." She pointed at Mordecai.

"I've yet to figure that out."

Mitzi chuckled. "Good luck, then."


End file.
